The soft light of morning filled Georgia’s room, as it spilled through the large windows. Georgia stood in front of her vanity table, slipping a black blouse over her head. The fabric felt cool against her skin. She brushed down the front and glanced at herself in the mirror.
Her dark hair, still a little damp from her bath, framed her face. She picked up her brush and ran it through slowly, watching as the strands fell straight down her back. When she was done, she reached for two small, silver hairpins. With care, she clipped the front pieces of her hair, tucking them away from her face.
Just then, there was a soft knock at the door.
“Come in,” Georgia called out, her voice light as she set the pins down.
The door opened, and Mark stepped in, dressed in a simple gray shirt and dark p
