The night did not rush them. It settled in layers, each one softer than the last, as though the city itself had learned how to approach their apartment with restraint. Violet noticed it while standing at the window after Bryan left that evening, her reflection faint against the glass. The tension he carried with him had not disappeared. It had stayed behind, folded neatly into the quiet of the room.

She did not pace. She did not distract herself. She allowed the stillness to remain intact.

That, more than anything, felt new.

The following morning began with the same calm continuity. Violet moved through her routine with clarity, noticing how...