The morning of our departure arrived quietly. I woke up slowly, aware of the weight of the moment before I even opened my eyes. The room felt different and completely, like a place that had finished its job.
I lay still for a while, listening to the soft sounds outside the window. Paris was waking gently. Cars moved in the distance, footsteps echoed faintly on the street below, and somewhere a door closed with a calm finality. I turned my head and looked at Canna. He was still asleep breathing slowly, his face relaxed in a way that told me he had rested well.
I smiled to myself. We had done this honeymoon properly. We Had time to connect well more emotionally and physically.
When he finally opened his eyes, he did not speak immediately. He looked around the room as if committing it to
