Morning crept into their apartment like someone afraid of waking them. Soft light brushed over the furniture, the kitchen counters, the half-open door of the balcony where last night’s breeze had slipped through.

Violet woke slowly, blinking at the gentle glow touching the ceiling. She felt warm, cocooned in blankets—and in the solid presence behind her. Bryan’s arm lay draped over her waist, his breathing steady against her shoulder. She didn’t move at first. She just let herself exist in that quiet space where nothing demanded anything from her.

Then her mind began its usual drifting—Haven, meetings, the teenagers in the trauma group, the volunteer doctor who forgot to file...