I reach for my usual water jug—but it’s not in its place.
I sigh. I’ll have to go downstairs.
I walk down barefoot in the dark to avoid waking anyone, guided by the dim light from the kitchen window.
But as I enter, a tall figure emerges from the shadows.
I gasp, my throat tightening, a scream forming—but before it escapes, a firm hand covers my mouth.
I opened my eyes wide, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.
Then I recognized him.
The initial shock dissolves into a whirl of overwhelming emotions.
Tears fill my eyes uncontrollably, and my breath catches, ragged and uneven, like my chest can’t contain the flood that’s breaking through.
“Shh…” he whispers hoarsely, each syllable scraped raw from a wounded throat.
The hands I silently longed for—the ones I imagined during sleeple
