The weekend slipped through Marian’s fingers far too quickly.
One moment it was Saturday morning—sunlight spilling lazily through the curtains, Daniel’s arm heavy and warm around her waist—and the next, she was blinking awake to the sharp clarity of Monday. The quiet luxury of unhurried time had vanished, replaced by the familiar rhythm of schedules, meetings, and obligations. It always surprised her how happiness seemed to compress time, how joy never lingered long enough to be fully absorbed.
Daniel noticed it too.
Over coffee that morning, he told her about his plan for the following week, his voice calm and certain in the way it always was when he’d already made up his mind.
“I’m taking a vacation next week,” he said, reaching for her hand across the table. “I want time. Real time.
