The next morning came with a strange kind of clarity, like the air had shifted overnight and left me with just enough room to breathe. Rhys was still here, curled up on the small couch that doubled as a second bed when he stayed over. His bag was tucked under the coffee table, his jacket draped over the back of the chair he’d dragged closer to the window. He was still asleep, his breathing slow and even, his face relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen in weeks.
I didn’t wake him—not right away. Instead, I made my way to the kitchenette, the faint smell of coffee brewing pulling me further out of my fog. The morning light spilled through the blinds, streaking the linoleum with patterns that felt softer, warmer than they had in days. I leaned against the counter, sipping my coffee in slow, steady m
