4
Grace.
His side of the couch was cold when I woke up.
I blinked into the soft gray of early morning, blanket half-slipped off my legs, shirt still somewhere on the floor. The house was quiet except for the faint hum of rain gutters and the occasional creak from the stairs. I sat up slowly, the memory of last night thick and hazy in my body; the kisses, his hands, the taste of him on my lips.
But he was gone.
Not just from the room. Gone gone. No coffee waiting. No soft footsteps. No Daniel.
I pulled on my shirt and padded toward the kitchen, expecting to find him standing by the counter like usual, dark roast in hand, saying something dry and half-smiling. But the kitchen was empty, and only one mug was missing from the rack.
Sophie was the first to speak that morning.
“Why is D
