Morning came quietly, almost apologetically, as though the sun itself sensed the tension lingering inside the condo.
Michael sat at the dining table, untouched coffee growing cold in front of him. He had been there for nearly an hour, staring at nothing, replaying the night again and again in his head—the call, the hospital, the surgery, and most painfully, the look in Marnie’s eyes when he came home.
It wasn’t anger.
That would have been easier.
It was restraint.
The twins slept peacefully in their crib, blissfully unaware of the emotional fault line forming beneath their parents’ carefully constructed calm. Michael had checked on them three times already, just to reassure himself that something in his life was still uncomplicated.
Behind him, soft footsteps approached.
“Marnie?” h
