The morning light filtered through the heavy velvet curtains, casting a sickly yellow hue over the bedroom. I lay there, trapped in the heavy, underwater lethargy of a deep sleep. The house was quiet—too quiet—except for the rhythmic, muffled hiss of the shower running in the master bathroom.I rolled over, my hand instinctively reaching for the other side of the bed. It was warm. The sheets were rumpled, smelling of the familiar sandalwood soap David always used. I smiled to myself, memories of the night before—the late-night arrival, the whispered greetings, the intimacy—drifting through my mind like sweet smoke. He must have slipped in late while I was half-asleep, finding his way to me in the dark.I looked toward the bathroom door. A tall silhouette was visible behind the frosted glass. I watched him move, feeling a surge of affection. He was finally home.Suddenly, the night
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