“Oh?” she whispers in a sing-song voice. “The new son-in-law is still sleeping? Ah, young people have no discipline.”

She places a small, warm hand on your knee. Not seductive. Anchoring.

Your mother-in-law (let’s call her for this expansion) slides the door open six inches. One large, luminous eye peers in. Despite being "of age," her face is unlined, her cheek round.

You sit. A long silence.