Scarlett’s POV
There’s a kind of love that slips in quietly.
Not the kind that shouts across rooms or burns through letters. But the kind that brushes its fingers across your cheek at dusk. The kind that waits for you to turn around. The kind that, when it returns, returns softer. Wiser.
That was the kind of love we were learning now.
Jasper had started humming again.
He used to do it often, when working, walking, reading, but somewhere in the chaos, it had stopped. And now, as I passed the doorway to the study one golden afternoon, I heard it again. Low, off-key, familiar.
It felt like the house itself exhaled.
We weren’t rushing anything. After everything, we both seemed to understand that love built on broken ground needed time to breathe.
But time had passed.
And lately, there
