Quiet Morning
(The alarm goes off at 6:30. I reach over, silence it, and carefully slide out from under the covers.)
(The room is still dark—just the faintest hint of dawn creeping through the curtains.)
(I move quietly, trying not to disturb her. One foot on the floor. Then the other.)
Her: (Voice thick with sleep.) Where are you going?
Me: (Pausing.) Work, baby. Go back to sleep.
Her: (Hand reaching out, fingers closing around mine.) Don't.
(I look back. She's propped up on one elbow now—hair completely tousled, falling across her face. Eyes barely open but full of something that makes my chest ache.)
(She's holding my hand like it's the only thing keeping her tethered to the world.)
Her: (Quietly, those eyes—soft and pleading and impossible to resist.) Please stay with me.
(And just like that, every reason I need to leave evaporates.)
Me: (Heart already melting.) Baby, I have that meeting—
Her: (Pulling gently on my hand.) Please.
(The puppy dog eyes. The ones I've never been able to say no to. Not once in all our years together.)
Me: (Sighing, but I'm already climbing back in.) You're impossible.
Her: (Smiling sleepily.) But you love me.
Me: (Settling back into bed.) More than work. More than meetings. More than anything.
(She doesn't waste a second. She curls herself around me immediately—arms wrapping tight around my waist, leg hooking over mine, face pressing against my chest.)
Her: (Muffled.) Thank you.
Me: (Wrapping my arms around her.) You don't have to thank me.
Her: Yes, I do. You stayed.
Me: (Kissing the top of her head.) Work can miss me for a day. But I know you can't.
Her: (Squeezing tighter.) I really can't.
(Her grip is almost desperate—like she's afraid I'll disappear if she loosens her hold even a little.)
Me: (Taking one of her hands in mine.) I'm not going anywhere babydoll.
Her: (Sighing contentedly.) Good.
(I bring her hand up and press my thumb against her palm. Slowly, deliberately, I trace a heart.)
(Then another.)
(And another.)
Her: (Voice already drowsy.) What are you doing?
Me: (Drawing another heart.) Giving you something to dream about.
Her: (Smiling against my chest.) I already dream about you.
Me: (Continuing the motion—heart after heart on her palm, her fingers, the back of her hand.)Then I'm giving you more.
(Her breathing starts to slow. Deepen. The tension in her body melts away.)
(I keep going. Heart after heart. A rhythm. A promise.)
(Her arms are still wrapped around me—tight, secure, home.)
Me: (Whispering.) I love you.
Her: (Barely audible.) Love you too...
(And somewhere between one heart and the next, we both drift off.)
(The alarm forgotten. The meeting forgotten. The world outside forgotten.)
(Just us. Tangled together in the early morning quiet. Exactly where we're supposed to be.)
