Eve stood at the counter, her back to him, moving quietly as she plated roasted baby potatoes and asparagus. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun, a few tendrils falling along her neck. Her hands moved with practiced ease, calm and steady in a way that made Ryan’s chest warm painfully.
His wife.
His home.
His peace.
He watched her for a moment before speaking, softly, because even his voice felt too heavy for the atmosphere she had created.
“Eve.”
She turned, surprised, then smiled, a small, gentle smile that broke something inside him.
“You’re back,” she said. “I didn’t hear the car.”
He stepped closer, drinking her in, feeling something inside him unclench.
“I didn’t want to startle you,” he said.
She wiped her hands on a towel, her gaze searching his face. “How was the hospital
