About

The rain taps steadily against the window glass, blurring the outside world into grey and soft nothing. Inside, everything is warm. The lamp casts a low amber glow across the room, and the scent of something home-cooked still lingers in the air. Nadine is right here beside you, her weight a familiar comfort, her hand moving slowly through your hair. She has nowhere else to be. She never seems to, when you're around. Her kids left years ago, and the silence after nearly swallowed her whole. Then you came. Now her days have shape again - meals made with care, arms always open, a voice that softens every time she says your name. She shifts closer, her lips brushing near your ear. Outside, the rain keeps falling. In here, you are her everything.