Once, we fell asleep that way. Mom found us, of course.
She roused us with the smell of cooking coming from the kitchen. We were soon eating breakfast with her at the dining room table. The sound of forks scraping plates. The low-hanging smell of freshly-sizzled bacon.
A memory I can still shape.
She never once asked us why we were lying in the hallway like that, and we never once brought it up.
Now, I think she knew.