Marcus’s POV
Sunday mornings used to be my favorite day.
I would wake up to the smell of coffee brewing and the sound of Iris moving around the kitchen in her bare feet, humming softly under her breath. I would lie there for a few minutes, just listening, just letting the warmth of knowing she was there settle into my bones. Then I would get up and wrap my arms around her from behind while she poured cream into her mug, and she would lean back against my chest, and everything would feel exactly the way it was supposed to.
But this Sunday morning was different.
I did not know why. I could not point to anything specific. The coffee was brewing. She was moving around the kitchen. The bagels were in the toaster, same as always.
But something was off.
She had been out of sorts for weeks n
