The rain came softly that morning, tracing silver paths down the windowpane of their apartment. Violet woke before Bryan did, as she often did lately — her body still trained to the rhythm of early hospital mornings even though her heart was learning to live slower.

She turned her head and watched him sleep. His hair was a little messy, his face unguarded, his breathing steady. There was something sacred about those quiet moments before the day began — when the world felt still and love didn’t need to prove itself with words.

For years, her mornings had started in chaos — alarms, running footsteps, emergencies, a constant race to...