EMMALINE
Morning comes quietly.
The first thing I notice is the light—soft, pale gold spilling through the curtains, stretching across the sheets in long warm lines. The second thing I notice is the space beside me. Cold. Empty.
For a moment, I stay still, staring at the faint dent in the pillow where his head must have rested. He must’ve slipped out before dawn, the same way he always does when things get too close. No sound. No warmth left behind.
I thought I would feel regret. Or shame. Something dark and twisting.
But I don’t.
All I feel is a strange, quiet calm… the kind that settles over you after a storm, when the air is still and the only thing left is the echo of what happened.
My body feels warm and heavy, humming from the remnants of last night. The fire has died, leaving
