The first morning of the rest of their lives did not begin with the chime of a silver bell or the hushed footsteps of a uniformed maid. It began with the insistent, rhythmic thumping of a wooden spoon against a plastic bowl and the unfiltered, golden light of a Toronto spring morning pouring through the mismatched curtains of their third-floor walk-up.
Skyler woke up slowly, her senses returning in layers. The weight of the duvet was heavy and comforting, smelling of lavender detergent and the faint, lingering scent of the eucalyptus from the conservatory. Beside her, Elena was a warm, breathing presence, her dark curls splayed across the pillow in a messy halo of peace.
