INDY
It was morning when I knew.
I did not need the news this time. The light alone told me everything.
I stood by the window as I had done for days, my fingers resting lightly on the frame. When I pulled the curtain aside, the world that greeted me was unrecognizable.
The snow was gone.
The pathways between cottages were visible again, muddy and damp, but no longer swallowed in white. The trees, though still swaying, were no longer weighed down by frost.
Sunlight spilled across the valley in wide golden streaks.
Behind me, fabric rustled.
I did not have to turn around to know what he was doing.
Rome was already packing.
I watched his reflection faintly in the glass. He moved slowly, carefully folding the scarf I had knitted him, placing it nearly inside. His coat was laid acros
