Pov - HELEN MARTIN
I awakened to find Anton's side of the bed empty. I checked the bath—he was not there either. I knew then exactly where he would be. Undoubtedly, he was brewing my coffee.
To allow Anton even a fleeting moment of distance is a struggle; I cannot keep him far, nor can I bear his absence. If he is not immediately within reach, my heart flutters with worry, as I carry a perpetual dread—the fear of losing those I love.
But with Anton, that fear is subdued, for I know that he is inherently mine.
Anton and I have shared two years together. Yet, it feels as though we have been intertwined for a lifetime. "I must be mad," I muse over my own strange thoughts.
I approached Anton in the kitchen and enveloped his chest with my hands.
I held him in a tight embrace. I heard him laugh, and he turned his face toward me and kissed me on the forehead.
"Good morning, Sweetie."
"Morning, Pumpkin. What time did you get up?"
"Just a little while ago."