The first thing Amara Bennett noticed was the sunlight pressing gently against her eyelids. She remained still for a while, suspended in that soft space between dream and waking, where time slowed and memory lingered like a gentle hum. The silk of the sheets whispered against her bare legs, warm and familiar. She reached across the bed and found warmth.
Elijah.
He was already awake, reclining against the pillows with a book open in his hands. His reading glasses sat slightly crooked on the bridge of his nose, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
"You're awake," he said, glancing down at her.
"Mm-hmm," she murmured with a sleepy nod. She blinked slowly, adjusting to the light. "You should've woken me. I wanted to watch you read."
He closed the book gently and looked at her. "I wanted to let you sleep in. It's our anniversary, after all." She smiled and shifted closer, rolling toward him until her head nestled beneath his arm. "I wanted to be here with you. Just lying next to you while you read... it makes it feel like we're starting the day together." He chuckled, low and warm. She pressed a kiss to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her cheek. The morning was soft, golden, and quiet. This was her favorite place in the world.
Thirteen years.
It was a number that felt surreal, like something borrowed from someone else's life. People like them, people from two different worlds, with scars and histories that didn't fit neatly together, weren't supposed to last this long. Not after what they had endured.
She had met Elijah during the worst day of her life, a rainy Tuesday she would never forget. She'd sat trembling on the cold tile floor of the hospital corridor, her hands stained with regret and her mind drowning in a sea of noise. Elijah had been the doctor on call. He hadn't said much that day, just offered her a blanket and sat beside her until the storm inside her began to quiet.
There had been no flirtation, no instant magic. Just presence. Steady, compassionate presence. And that had been enough to plant something; something that would grow slowly, into what they had now.
They had survived the unspoken things. Quiet battles no one else would ever know. Years of trying and failing. Therapists who nodded and scribbled. Days where neither of them could speak, and nights when all they could do was hold each other in silence. The early miscarriages that took more than they ever admitted. The dull ache of trying again. And again. Still, they had rebuilt. Not in grand gestures, but in small, unremarkable moments. A shared look across a grocery aisle. A gentle squeeze of the hand in traffic. A whispered joke at midnight.
Now, as the morning light stretched lazily across the sheets, they rested in quiet comfort. Her hand drifted across his chest, tracing the curve of his collarbone. They lay in silence, listening to Milo's occasional rustle from his dog bed in the corner.
After a while, Elijah spoke. "Coffee?"
Amara nodded. "With cinnamon."
"Always," he said, kissing her forehead before climbing out of bed.
She watched him leave, then sat up slowly, taking her time.
Standing barefoot on the hardwood floor, she opened her wardrobe and surveyed her options. She ran her hand across the fabric of her dresses, then paused at the white silk one with tiny embroidered flowers along the hem. It had been a gift from Elijah three anniversaries ago, and she had only worn it once. She held it up against herself in the mirror and smiled. It still fit.
She paired it with her mother's pearl earrings and added a dab of vanilla perfume at her neck. In the mirror, tilted her head slightly and studied herself.
She still looked like Amara. Maybe a softer version of her. The one who had loved and lost and kept moving. Her skin caught the morning light, glowing faintly. She pressed her hands gently to her stomach, her fingers resting against the curve that once held hope.
"If only..." she whispered. Her throat tightened....
The kettle screamed from the kitchen below, snapping her out of her thoughts, dissolving like dust.
Downstairs, the air smelled of toasted rye and fresh cinnamon-laced coffee. Elijah had already set the table. Two ceramic mugs, perfectly buttered toast, scrambled eggs with chives, and neat slivers of avocado. In the center, a tiny candle flickered, its scent warm and comforting.
Amara paused at the doorway, touched. "You remembered everything." Elijah turned from the counter and shrugged, a sheepish grin on his face. "Told you I'd make up for last year."
She smiled gently, stepping into the kitchen. "Last year was... hard. But this is perfect. Thank you." She kissed his cheek before taking her seat.
Milo padded over and nudged his head into her lap. "Shameless boy," she laughed, slipping him a piece of toast. Elijah raised a brow as he sipped his coffee. "You do realize he's completely manipulating you."
"Well," she said, glancing down at Milo with a smirk, "he learned from the best."
"I spoil you one time and this is what happens."
She grinned at him. "Biggest mistake you ever made."
"No doubt," he said, but the smile on his face lingered.
They lingered over breakfast, savoring each bite. Their conversation meandered, what to plant this spring, whether to repaint the guest room, if that new bakery on Briar Street was worth visiting. Their hands brushed occasionally beneath the table, and each time, Amara felt a quiet warmth bloom in her chest.