Naomi's POV

The morning sun filtered through gauzy curtains, dust motes dancing like champagne bubbles. I woke before the alarm, tracing the faint line of scars on my hip where my baby had first kicked. Raymond was still sleeping, one arm thrown over the pillow, his back rising and falling in the steady rhythm of rest.

I slid out of bed, my toes brushing the soft rug. In the bathroom’s mirror, I saw the woman I had become—lines around my eyes where laughter lived, slight softness at ...