Miracle's POV
(Two Years Ago)
I have always loved the rain. It didn't matter if it was a soft whisper against the windowpane or a roaring downpour; it always felt like a secret world was being washed clean. It was my peace. My freedom.
That night, I was curled up on the plush rug, a heavy blanket pulled up to my chin, watching a single raindrop trace a slow, wandering path down the glass.
The fireplace crackled, filling the room with a warm, woody scent—the only heat source because the thermostat had finally given out. The flickering flames painted dancing shadows on the walls, and the rhythm of the storm slowly lulled me to sleep.
"Hey, sweetness."
The voice was a low, melodic murmur, pulling me from the edge of dreams. I stirred, blinking my eyes open. He was there, sitting behind me, his body cradling mine. His arms held me with a tenderness that felt like worship.
"Stevie," I breathed, my voice thick with sleep.
