Zuria
The living room had taken on a cozy rhythm over the past few months—soft lighting, warm blankets, the subtle scent of chamomile, and the ever-present sound of Danny humming in the background as he fussed over something. I'd grown used to the quiet safety that came from being with him. After everything that had happened with Mr. Connor, peace had become my refuge, and Danny? Danny had become my anchor.
I sat reclined on the old velvet armchair, both of my swollen feet immersed in a shallow basin of cool water. The relief was immediate, a welcome contrast to the dull ache that seemed to plague me constantly now. Danny knelt in front of me, adjusting the towel beneath the bowl with that same meticulous care he'd shown me since I moved in.
I studied his profile, the focused tilt of his brows, the gentle crease in his forehead. Without thinking, the words just slipped out of me.
"When my kids grow up, I'm going to tell them you're their father."
