The morning sunlight was pale and weak, filtered through thick winter clouds that promised more snow. Emma awoke to the faint sound of Liam moving around the apartment. She blinked awake, stretching under the warmth of her blankets, but the tension that had surfaced yesterday lingered, like frost stubbornly clinging to branches.
Liam was at the kitchen counter, staring out the window, hands wrapped around a steaming mug. His jaw was tight, and his brows were knit—not in anger, but in thought. Emma realized immediately that this day would test them again.
“Morning,” she said softly, trying to mask the apprehension in her voice.
“Morning,” he replied, voice neutral, though there was an edge she couldn’t ignore.
They shared a quiet breakfast, the clinking of cutlery and soft hum of the he
