Sadly, Leo was late.
Bella checked her phone for the hundredth time. The screen glowed in the dim living room, showing his message: Something came up. Don't wait up.
She read it again, her heart sinking. She had been so excited to show him the painting. She had imagined his reaction, the way his gray eyes would soften, the way his lips would curve into that rare, private smile. She had practiced what she would say, how she would hand it to him, how she would pretend not to watch while he unwrapped it.
But now he wasn't coming.
She placed the painting on the sofa, leaning it against the armrest. The brown paper crinkled softly. She stood back, looking at it. Wrapped and hidden. Waiting.
She knew his work was risky and dangerous. She had accepted that long ago. But acceptance didn't make the waiting easier. It didn't make the fear go away.
She clasped her hands together and closed her eyes.
Please, God, keep him safe, she prayed.
She opened her eyes and exhaled.
