The morning air wraps around me the moment I step out of the car—warm, fresh, carrying the first honest hints of summer. No more winter chill—just a quiet warmth settling in.
The season has shifted without my permission, without my notice, while I've been too caught up in hospital rooms and whispered diagnoses and the slow, terrifying unraveling of everything I thought I knew about myself.
I pause with my hand still on the car door, my feet planted on the sun-warmed pavement, and feel a twist of guilt settle low in my stomach.
Deniz wanted to spend the whole day together.
He asked. For the first time since we became us, he asked for something for himself. Not for me. Not for my health. Not for my comfort or my recovery or my endless, exhausting needs. Just… us.
A whole day. At home. In our bed. In each other's arms.
And I wanted to give it to him.
To say yes—and mean it.
