Lucas's breath caught. Elena's heart skipped. The moment stretched—quiet, delicate, fragile as glass.
Lucas was the first to let go. He drew his hand back, his fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary before retreating toward the edge of the bed. Elena hesitated, her skin tingling where he'd touched her. She gently pulled the duvet up, tucking it around Mila's shoulders with careful hands.
For a few seconds after, neither Lucas nor Elena spoke or moved. The air between them felt different—charged with something unspoken, a longing neither had expected to feel.
Lucas stared into the darkness, listening to the rhythm of his daughter's breathing. Normally, he would have felt trapped, forced into a closeness he didn't want. Tonight, however, the sharp edges of his solitude softened. He didn't want to run. He didn't want to close himself off. For the first time in years, the ache inside his chest eased.
