At first, it was a battle of boundaries.
Elena clung to the far edge of the bed, muttering about personal space. Dominic kept perfectly still, pretending not to notice when her leg brushed his. The air was thick with unspoken things too much history, too little distance.But exhaustion had no manners. Somewhere between the shifting and the sighing, between "move over" and "I'm not even touching you," they drifted.
And when sleep finally came, it was deep the kind that stripped away pride and left only the raw comfort of presence.
Morning crept in through the curtains, spilling soft gold across tangled sheets.
Neither of them moved.
Elena's head rested against Dominic's chest, his arm loosely draped around her waist. Their breaths synced like they used to, years ago steady, familiar, heartbreakingly natural.
The door creaked.
Tiny footsteps padded across the floor.
"Mama?" Anya's small voice came first confused, sleepy.
Then, louder, "Mama, you didn't wake me up for sch"
