Caz
The house felt different today.
Lighter. Warmer.
Hopeful.
I’d spent the whole damn afternoon moving things around—clearing space in my dresser, in the bathroom, the entryway. I even moved the couch a few inches, just in case it made the space feel more like ours instead of mine.
The skillet sizzled behind me, garlic and rosemary rising with the steam. A bottle of red breathed on the counter. Candles sat unlit but waiting—dozens of little flickers of intention. It wasn’t perfect. But it was honest. Thoughtful.
It was me.
For her.
I picked up my phone and typed a message:
Dinner’s ready. Got wine. Got candles. Got room for you.
I stared at it for half a second too long before hitting send.
No second-guessing. Not anymore.
She’d chosen me.
And damn if I wasn’t going to show h
