The smell of coffee wafted through the air when I padded barefoot into the kitchen, still wearing a robe. The fabric hung loose on my frame, brushing the tops of my thighs, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy the quiet.
The windows were open just enough to let in the morning breeze. Outside, the sky was soft and gray as if the weather hadn't entirely made up its mind yet. The house felt… still. Still, like it had exhaled something heavy in the night and hadn't taken a breath since.
Mark stood near the island, his back to me, phone in one hand, coffee in the other. I could tell something was off before I saw the screen—before I even heard the muted click of his thumb as he scrolled through whatever had captured his attention.
His shoulders were too tight. His jaw, set.
"Morning," I said, trying for something light.
He glanced over his shoulder, gave a small nod. "Morning."
That was all.
No kiss. No smirk. Just the word, brittle and clipped.
