Elena’s POV
The smell of coffee and antiseptic still clung to my sweater as I curled into Adrian’s oversized reading chair, my tablet balanced across my lap. My fingers swiped left, navigating through the last of my emails with the screen reader murmuring updates in my ear. I'd just finished listening to a podcast when I heard the front door open and close, followed by Adrian’s familiar footsteps.
“Elena?” he called.
“In the library,” I answered, voice steady, though something inside me always softened when he came home.
He stepped into the room, still in his slate-gray scrubs, a soft tangle of fatigue around his eyes, but I could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “I have good news, Natalie’s toxicology reports are all clear."
Relief bloomed inside me. “That’s amazing, Adrian.
