We woke before the alarm.

The light came in soft through the curtains, that kind of clean morning gold that makes everything look like it belongs. No dramatics. No symbolism. Just sunlight, steady and sure. It touched the edge of the duvet, crept over the old oak floors, lit the steam rising from the mug Julian had placed on my nightstand.

I didn’t reach for it yet.

He was still beside me, propped up on one elbow, quiet. The kind of quiet that meant he had already been watching me for a ...