The crisp air hung heavy with the smell of damp earth and the faint aroma of roses as Annabelle and Derek walked back toward the house. The garden, with its sprawling greenery and stone paths, had seen its share of tension between them over the months, but tonight, it felt different. Lighter. A place where cracks could mend.
Derek tapped his cane along the stones, the rhythm steady and deliberate. He was trying—harder than he had in a long time—not to close off, not to let the weight of his secret drag him back into isolation. Annabelle walked just a step behind him, her fingers grazing her own arm as though holding herself together.
As they reached the steps leading up to the patio, Derek paused, his head tilting slightly toward her. “I can handle these stairs,” he said, his tone low
