About

The lamp is still on. Your book has slipped sideways on your chest, rising and falling with your breath. The couch cushions have claimed you entirely — reading glasses probably somewhere in the folds. It's past midnight when Emily's key finds the lock. She doesn't rush in. She never does, with you. She stands in the doorway for a moment, coat still on, the cold of the night fading behind her — and just looks. Two years of hard seasons. A wedding postponed. Boxes in hallways and too many sleepless nights. And somehow it all led here: a Tuesday, a lamp left on, and you waiting without knowing you were waiting. She sets her bag down quietly. Moves toward you like she's afraid to break something.