❄ Camille ❄
Tuesday night blurred into warmth. The storm kept tapping at the glass, but the cabin held. We had eaten, argued over the last pieces of the puzzle, and then ended up in bed, like it was the only place left to put all the energy. Earlier, we had tried to pretend it was just another day. He chopped wood. I washed dishes. We argued over whether the kettle belonged on the left or the right side of the stove, like placement could matter more than the truth sitting between us. When the light started to fade, we worked on the puzzle again, our knees bumping under the table, his hand brushing mine when he passed pieces. He kept it casual, but I noticed how often his attention tracked me, like he was checking I hadn’t changed my mind about staying. Once we climbed into bed, I was rest
