Ten months.
Ten months of marriage.
Ten months of waking up and knowing Owen was somewhere in the house.
Ten months of coming home to someone who asked how my day had gone.
Someone who packed my lunch.
Someone who remembered how I liked my coffee.
Someone who folded my shirts and organized things around the house.
Someone who took care of Theo with a patience I had never seen before.
And somehow, despite everything we had built together, there was still one thing I couldn’t understand.
Owen never made the first move.
Not once.
I was always the one who reached for his hand.
I was always the one who pulled him closer at night.
I was always the one who wrapped my arms around him when we slept.
I was always the one who complimented him.
“You look beautiful.”
“I like your smile.
