JASMINE
When I reached our bedroom door, I paused, hand hovering over the handle. I could hear the faint sound of running water from the bathroom
The thought of him standing under the hot spray, shoulders tense from another long day of damage control, made my chest tighten with guilt and love all at once.
I pushed the door open quietly.
The bedroom was dimly lit by the bedside lamps, casting a warm, golden glow across the large bed and the scattered rose petals from last night that we hadn't yet cleaned up.
The air smelled of his cologne and the faint trace of steam drifting from the cracked bathroom door.
I slipped inside and closed the door behind me, heart beating faster as I crossed the room.
I could see his silhouette through the frosted glass of the shower broad shoulders, the strong line of his back, water cascading down his skin. He stood with his head bowed under the spray, hands braced against the tile wall, as if trying to wash away the weight of the world.
