The city looked different when we drove back into it three days later.
Same skyline. Same congested streets. Same apartment building with the doorman who still called me “Miss Morgan” out of habit. But everything felt altered... sharper, brighter, more permanent. Because the platinum band on my finger caught the afternoon light every time I moved my hand.
John parked in the underground garage and killed the engine. For a moment neither of us spoke. His hand rested on my thigh, thumb stroking slow circles over the soft skin just beneath the hem of my dress.
“Ready to start the rest of our life?” he asked, voice low.
I turned in the seat and kissed him... deep, slow, tasting the faint mint of the gum he’d been chewing. When I pulled back, his eyes were already dark.
“I’ve been ready,” I
