Sara Ikari Rodriguez
The first time I heard Matio snore — like really snore — was just after 9:00 a.m.
It was deep. Heavy. The kind of exhausted sound someone makes when they’ve finally stopped fighting everything in their head.
He’d fallen asleep on the couch, still fully dressed, arms crossed over his chest like even in rest, he was trying to protect something.
I stood in the kitchen doorway and just… looked at him.
His dark hair was messier than usual, lips parted, a slight crease still etched between his brows — as if his body was relaxed, but his
mind didn’t know how to join in.
I didn’t wake him.
I just turned the stove on low and started breakfast.
It wasn’t anything fancy — just eggs, toasted bread, sliced avocado and sautéed mushrooms. But it felt like something. Like ho
