Dickson’s POVThe next morning, I woke at dawn once again. I dreaded the quiet before the day stirred to life—a space too big, too empty. The weight of Daisy’s words from last night sat heavy in my chest. *Feel whatever you want… just don’t let those feelings break what we have.* Those words repeated like a mantra.I got up, dressed, and headed outside to the backyard, hoping the crisp air would settle me. The garden lay untouched in early light; dew pooled on leaves, silence thick between the hedges. I spotted Daisy by the old oak, curled in a chair, staring into nothing.I moved to her quietly. She didn’t look at me—didn’t want to. I understood that. I pulled up a chair beside hers and let the silence stretch. My legs felt weak under the weight of uncertainty.“Morning,” I said softly.“Morning,” she replied, breathing in. I could hear the tension in her voice, the tight set of her shoulders.“Did you sleep at all?” I asked.“Some,” she said, voice small.“I’m glad,” I said—as thou
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