I woke up to the soft weight of Val's arm draped across my chest, her forehead resting against my shoulder as if she'd been holding onto me in her sleep.
For a moment, I just stayed still.
Her breaths were slow. Even. Peaceful.
The exact opposite of how she'd fallen asleep last night.
The conversation we'd had — the rawness in her voice, the way she tried to be strong even while admitting the fears she'd been hiding — it stayed with me. I could still feel it lingering in the air between us, like a ghost of her pain she didn't want me to carry.
But I was always going to carry it.
She shifted a little, her fingers curling slightly against my shirt. Then she blinked awake, eyelashes brushing my collarbone before she lifted her head just enough to meet my eyes.
"Morning husband..." Her voice was soft, rough in that vulnerable way she had only around me. "Did you sleep well?"
"Eventually," I said, brushing a thumb against her cheek. "You?"
