The decision didn’t arrive as a rush of heat or urgency.
It settled into me quietly, the way everything important seemed to now—without panic, without desperation, without the sharp edge of needing to prove anything to myself or to him. It came later that night, after the terrace had emptied of light and the house had gone still again, after the weight of the past had finally loosened its grip enough for me to notice something else underneath.
Desire.
Not the frantic kind I used to associate with escape or reassurance. Not something tangled up in fear of loss. This was slower. Intentional. Rooted in my body instead of my anxiety.
We were in the bedroom, the lamps low, the curtains open just enough to let the night exist with us. Ray sat on the edge of the bed, loosening his watch, move
