Morning arrived without ceremony.
No jolt of urgency. No sense that I needed to seize the day before it slipped away. Light crept in gradually, softening the edges of the room, and I let myself stay where I was for a while—half-awake, listening to the quiet hum of the house coming back to life.
Ray was already gone.
I hadn’t expected otherwise. His side of the bed was cool, the sheets smoothed with the care he always took when he left early. There was a faint trace of him still—his scent, the indentation where his shoulder usually rested—but no heaviness attached to his absence.
I stretched, unhurried, and rolled onto my back.
This, I realized, was new too.
Being alone without feeling abandoned. Being apart without feeling erased.
I got up when I felt like it, showered slowly, dress
