The morning was quiet. The kind of quiet that came with a slow, easy start—the kind that made it too easy to slip into routine, to pretend today was just another day.
But it wasn't.
I glanced down at the tray in front of me, the warm scent of coffee mixing with the sweet, familiar smell of blueberry muffins. A single candle sat nestled in the top of one, its tiny flame flickering softly. It was simple, not extravagant, but that was the point.
I wanted Mark to ease into it.
Balancing the tray carefully, I made my way upstairs, nudging open the door to Mark's room with my foot. The curtains were still drawn, the early morning light filtering through the cracks, casting soft shadows across the space.
Mark was still asleep, lying on his stomach, his face turned slightly to the side, one arm stretched over my empty side of the bed. The sheets had slipped down to his waist, his back bare, the muscles shifting slightly as he breathed.
I hesitated for a moment, just watching him.
