The next morning was the first time I woke up beside Ruben in our new home as his wife.
No ceremony. No guests. No stylists buzzing around. No obligations demanding our attention.
It was domestic. Almost… surreal.
I stayed in bed longer than I should have, tangled in the sheets and my thoughts. Everything was still so new: my name, my home, my life. My husband.
When I finally wandered into the kitchen, barefoot and sleepy-eyed in Ruben’s shirt, he looked up from where he was pouring fresh juice and smiled.
“There she is,” he said warmly. “Good morning, Mrs. Delwunco.”
I offered a tired smile. “Morning.”
He had made breakfast eggs, toast, fruit, and perfectly brewed coffee. I sat down quietly, letting him fuss a little. He seemed lighter than usual. Happy, even. As though the last few weeks of chaos had been worth it.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, handing me my mug.
I nodded. “Better than I have in weeks.”
We ate in companionable silence for a while, broken only by the occasional cli
