Lucas left before dawn.
The apartment was still wrapped in that soft, fragile quiet that belonged only to early mornings—when the city hadn’t yet demanded attention, when love still slept peacefully in warm sheets.
Lucas stood at the edge of the bed for a long moment.
Marilyn lay curled on her side, hair spilling across the pillow, her breathing slow and even. He watched her as though he might never see her like this again—unguarded, untouched by doubt.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, though she couldn’t hear it.
He didn’t kiss her goodbye.
If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave.
.
.
.
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Marilyn Wakes to Absence
When Marilyn woke, the bed beside her was cold.
That alone wasn’t unusual—Lucas often woke early—but something felt *off*. The apartment was too quiet. No dista
