The house was too quiet when I woke up.

Elijah had left before dawn. I had felt him kiss my forehead, heard him whisper “I’ll find you later, baby” against my hair, and then the soft click of my bedroom door.

The sheets still smelled of him: salt and cedar and warm skin. My body ached in the sweetest places, as if each bruise were a secret love letter.

I stayed there for a while, staring at the fairy lights that were still on, pale and tired in the morning light. My phone vibrated on the nights