Sheila’s POV
The morning light creeps through the thin curtains, soft and golden, painting slow lines across my sheets.
I’m awake before the alarm. Lying perfectly still. Afraid that if I move, the air will shift and I’ll remember too much.
Last night clings to me like a second skin.
The sound of his voice.
The way he stood in my doorway uninvited, yet as if he’d always belonged there.
The silence stretched until my pulse became the only sound in the room.
I close my eyes and breathe in deep, but it’s useless. The scent of him lingers clean soap, smoke, and something darker. It’s everywhere. In my hair. On my pillow. In the ache sitting low in my stomach.
I roll onto my side and stare at the ceiling.
I should be angry. I should be terrified of what I’m letting happen. But my thoug
