The silence of the night envelops the cabin like a heavy, soft blanket. After the chaos of the day, the tension of dinner in the barn, that social performance we both had to keep up, the air inside the living room finally feels breathable. I feel the fatigue in my bones, but it’s a different kind of tiredness—one accompanied by the relief of having her here, just us again.
Alice is sitting on the couch, legs tucked in, eyes lost in the fire dancing in the fireplace. I see the shadow of anxiety still hovering over her shoulders. I sit down beside her slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal.
“Today was long,” I say, my voice low, almost a whisper.
She nods without looking.
I don’t speak anymore. Instead, I let my hand slide over the couch until I find hers. I intertwine our fingers
