The dry, clinical warmth of the medical center waiting room is a far cry from the snow-dusted pine trees and roaring hearth back at Evelyn’s coastal cottage.
We’ve been back home for two days now, but in some ways, it feels like months.
Our flight back was a smooth, comforting blur: a few quiet hours above the clouds where I rested my head against Locke's broad shoulder, watching the winter landscape pass below while feeling the steady, grounding warmth of his arm wrapped around me.
Now, sitting on a pale-yellow sofa under bright lights, the realities of our life back home are fast catching up. But for the first time in a year, walking into a medical facility doesn't send a cold, sick knot of dread twisting into my gut.
Today feels entirely different.
Beside me, Locke sits with his
