Emma’s Point Of View
The smell of fresh coffee still lingered in the air as I walked into the kitchen, my mind swirling with the morning’s events. Adrian’s quick and simple response to my text, "I’m fine" hadn’t eased my worry, but I knew better than to push him. He’d return when he was ready. Instead of dwelling, I decided to channel my energy into something productive. Lunch. For the first time in my life, I wanted to cook for someone else, for him, my husband.
The word still sounded surreal, even in my thoughts. Husband. Six months ago, the very idea of marriage was a distant dream, buried under piles of unpaid medical bills and long, lonely nights trying to make ends meet. And yet, here I was, standing in a sunlit kitchen bigger than my entire apartment used to be, preparing a meal
