The next few days settled into something that almost felt like peace. We weren’t fixed, not completely, but we were trying, really trying.
Damien went to his second therapy session without me having to remind him. I went back to my normal class schedule and even picked up a few more shifts at the diner. He picked me up after work most nights, but he no longer insisted on coming inside or hovering.
He’d wait in the car, kiss me when I got in, and ask how my day was, small things and normal things. It felt good and fragile, but good.
One evening we were in the kitchen making dinner together, nothing fancy, just pasta and sauce from a jar because neither of us felt like cooking properly and we gave his staff long breaks, because we wanted the house all to ourselves. I was stirring the sauc
