The morning arrives slowly, like it knows better than to rush us.
Sunlight filters through the curtains in soft bands, pale gold and warm, touching the walls before it reaches me. The room smells faintly of salt and clean linen. I wake already calm. Not numb. Not braced. Just steady. My hand rests on my stomach out of habit now, fingers spreading gently as if to reassure both of us that today is real.
Today is happening.
I lie there for a few extra breaths, listening to the ocean beyond the window. Waves roll in and pull back again, patient and unbothered by time. There is no alarm. No urgency. No sense of something waiting to go wrong. That alone feels like a gift.
I shower first, letting the water run longer than necessary. Steam fills the small bathroom until the mirror fogs complet
