The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, brushing gold across the hardwood floors and casting long shadows along the baseboards. For a moment, I stayed in bed, not because I was tired but because I wanted to hold onto the stillness — the kind that came not from absence but from a strange, unfamiliar fullness.
I pressed my palm lightly to my chest. The echo of Mark's voice from last night still lingered there… steady, quiet, real.
I love you.
It didn't feel like a dream. It felt like something I'd been carrying for so long had finally settled into place, not with fanfare or fireworks, but with certainty.
I got up, tugged on a cardigan, and padded barefoot down the hall. The scent of coffee met me before I reached the kitchen, rich and warm, curling around the edges of the morning.
