Ivan stirred gently under the soft warmth of the covers. The morning sun had painted golden lines on the stone floor, and the cold wind hummed against the windowpanes. He turned to the other side of the bed, expecting to see Lydia beside him, but the space was empty. The covers were folded back. His heart dropped for a moment.
His breath caught.
He sat up quickly, eyes scanning the room. Fear gripped him. It was quiet, too quiet. His chest tightened.
His mind raced, going straight to the worst. Had she changed her mind? Had she finally seen him the way everyone else did? Had she slipped away in the early morning, without a sound, without a goodbye?
Just then, the door opened softly. He turned sharply toward it.
Lydia walked in, smiling, her hair loose over her shoulders. "Good morning, Ivan," she said softly.
Relief flooded his face. It was like the air returned to his lungs.
