The key slid into the lock with a small, final click, and for a moment the world outside didn’t exist.
Mark opened the door first, and I followed, hesitating only long enough to let my gaze sweep over the small apartment that would, for the foreseeable future, be ours. It was modest, with lived-in charm: a narrow kitchen with a few mismatched appliances, a sofa that had clearly seen better days, shelves stacked with books and framed photos of places I’d never been, things I’d never known about him.
It smelled faintly of coffee, old wood polish, and Mark. That last scent hit me the hardest. Familiar, sharp, intoxicating. My fingers twitched at the edges of the doorframe as though I wanted to press myself into it, imprint myself into every corner of this space that he called home.
“You li
