The early morning sunlight filtered through the bedroom blinds, painting soft lines across the sheets. A month had passed since Shay came home, and each new day brought little changes—some subtle, some significant. Yet every morning still felt like a quiet miracle, one I refused to take for granted.
I stretched an arm out, reaching for the familiar warmth of Shay’s presence, only to find the sheets cool. My heart skipped slightly, an old habit born from worry that she might still be unsteady on her feet or in need of help. But the panic subsided when I heard her voice drifting softly down the hallway. A gentle, melodic murmur, accompanied by the sweet cooing of our daughter.
Slipping out of bed, I padded barefoot through the house. The place still felt new in some ways—Shay and I had rea
