For the first time in days, I wake up without panic clawing at my chest. No nightmares. No visions. No Brad. Just warmth. Noah’s warmth. He’s still beside me, half‑asleep, hair a mess, one arm draped over my waist like he forgot to let go during the night. When I shift, he blinks awake, eyes soft and sleepy.
“Morning,” he murmurs.
It’s the first birthday I’ve ever had where someone says that to me before I even sit up. I smile. “Morning.”
We get up slowly, quietly, like neither of us wants to break whatever fragile peace settled over us last night. But the moment we open my bedroom door... The smell hits me first. Pancakes. Bacon. Cinnamon. Coffee.And voices.Happy ones.
Noah nudges me gently. “Birthday breakfast.” My chest tightens in a way I’m not ready to unpack.
When we walk into t
