Oscar hadn't slept well. In his dream, Noelle walked away from him, and he woke with a jolt.
"Noelle!" He ran into her room.
Eight years since they'd met, three years of marriage, her presence had woven itself into every corner of his life.
Now it hit him—the woman who'd always been there to clean up his messes had been gone for too long.
The sun hit his eyes, sharp and blinding.
On the desk, her sketches were still scattered. He could almost see Noelle bent over the table, pencil in hand, putting her heart into every line.
In the closet, rows of dresses hung neatly. The lavender one swayed gently. He could picture her wearing it, turning to him. "Honey, how do I look in this?"
Her eyes softened into a warm smile, and two faint dimples showed at the corners of her mouth.
"Noelle...
