The next morning, the light was soft, filtering through the curtains in thin streams.
I found her in the kitchen again, her presence a comfort in the early hour.
She was making coffee, the familiar sound of the machine a gentle hum in the background.
Her back was to me, but I could see the tension in her shoulders.
“Morning,” I greeted, trying to infuse my voice with warmth.
She turned, offering a small smile that reached her eyes.
“Morning,” she replied, pouring a second cup and handing it to me.
We sat in silence, the air between us lighter than it had been.
“About yesterday…” she started, glancing up at me.
I shook my head slightly, not wanting to push her.
“Whenever you’re ready,” I said softly, offering her the space she needed.
She nodded, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup.
“I think I am,” she said, her voice steady.
And in that moment, I knew we were on the brink of something important, a conversation that might finally lift the shadows from her eyes.
Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered.
