It is nearly light and I have not slept. Pine boughs scrape the windowpanes.
“Stay,” she murmurs when I stir, but the name she whispers is not mine. She drifts in and out, clutching the covers to her chest.
Frost limns the window, and yet I lie here and burn.
Christine Hanolsy 
I love the contrast between the cold weather and the narrator “burning” inside. The tone and flow of words was very fitting for the early morning. I love your use of the quoted “stay” but whispering the details through the following narration. Very compelling read!
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I could picture the scene clearly, and I felt bad for the narrator and his newfound knowledge.
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