The morning was too quiet.
Not peaceful.
Not soft.
Just still in the way the world goes silent before a siren wails, before glass shatters, before someone finally says the thing that can’t be unsaid.
Edward stood in the kitchen with a mug in his hand, pretending to read an email, but I could see the way his jaw tensed every time I shifted, every time I moved like I might walk away from this fragile calm we had somehow rebuilt from the wreckage of our truths.
He glanced over at me once, twice like he wanted to say something that mattered, but hadn’t yet decided if honesty would cost him more than silence.
And just as I opened my mouth to break the tension with something lighter, something safe.
The knock came.
Sharp.
Three quick taps.
Too clean.
Too confident.
The kind of knock
