The morning light hit the blue wall at exactly seven-thirty. I had watched it happen every morning for the past week. The sun crept over the treeline, casting a long shadow across the living room floor, until the beam reached the freshly painted drywall. The blue was vibrant in the dawn, a stark contrast to the gray woods outside. It was a color of openness, of sky, of breath. It was a color that said the wall was no longer a barrier. It was just a surface.
I sat on the floor with my coffee mug, watching the light move. The house was quiet. Marcus was still upstairs. I could hear the faint sound of the shower running, the pipes groaning in the walls. The house was settling into its new rhythm. The wiring was new. The plumbing was updated. The security system was upgraded. It was a fortres
