The scent of something savory pulled her gently from sleep—soft and inviting, like the touch of morning sun filtering through sheer curtains.
Mio stirred, her eyelashes fluttering open as her gaze adjusted to the pale light spilling into the bedroom.
The space beside her was empty.
The warmth still lingered on the sheets, but Claude was gone.
She sat up slowly, the sleep still clinging to her limbs. There was a strange lightness in her chest—residual from the storm of yesterday, maybe. Or maybe just the weight she'd finally let herself put down, even if only for one night.
Her fingers reached up to brush the dried trace of a tear at the corner of her eye. She hadn't cried in years. Not like that.
And yet, she didn't regret it.
Still barefoot, she padded out of the room and down the stairs, drawn by the distinct crackle of oil in a pan and the soft hum of someone singing off-key.
She paused at the threshold of the open kitchen.
