CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT — The Language of Staying Staying, Evelyn learned, had its own vocabulary. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t rely on promises spoken too early or gestures meant to impress. It revealed itself in repetition in the quiet choice to return, again and again, without being asked. She noticed it one morning when she woke before Jesse and didn’t feel the urge to move carefully. She made coffee. Not silently. Not cautiously. She let the kettle hum, let the mug clink against the counter. Jesse stirred a few minutes later, hair still disordered, eyes not quite awake. “You didn’t try to be quiet,” he said, voice rough with sleep. She smiled. “Didn’t think I needed to.” He crossed the room and kissed her brief, unguarded, familiar. Not a moment that needed to be held onto. Just one that existed. “That’s new,” he said. “Yes,” she replied. “It feels… safe.” Passion, Evelyn realized, had once felt like momentum something that carried her forward quickly, sometimes too quickly
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