Brianna
Morning with Beth had become one of my favorite parts of life.
That thought still felt strange sometimes.
For so long, survival had meant isolation, keeping my head down, handling my own mess, expecting nothing from anyone. But somewhere between late-night talks, shared groceries, and stolen laughter over burnt toast, Beth had slipped past every wall I’d built.
Now, home felt like home because of her.
She stumbled in just after sunrise, exhausted from her night shift, dark circles under her eyes but still grinning the moment she saw me.
“Please tell me you made coffee.”
I snorted. “No. But I made pancakes.”
Her tired face lit up instantly.
“You’re my favorite person.”
“You say that every time I cook.”
“And I mean it every time.”
We moved around each other with an ease
