The city moved slower that Sunday morning, as if the world itself had paused to exhale. The sky was soft and silver, clouds drifting lazily over Manhattan. Violet stood by the window, still in one of Bryan’s shirts, watching as the sunlight began to pierce through. Behind her, the faint hiss of the espresso machine whispered to life. It was an ordinary moment — and that was exactly what made it extraordinary.

Bryan entered the room carrying two cups of coffee, his hair still damp from the shower. “I figured I’d try not to burn the pancakes this time,” he said with a smirk, handing her one cup.

She raised...