Saturday arrived without urgency.
There were no alarms. No schedules stacked tight against each other. Only pale morning light easing through the curtains and the quiet hum of a city that had not yet decided to be loud.
Willow woke first, not because she had to, but because she felt rested enough to notice the day beginning. She lay still for a moment, listening. Zane's breathing was slow and even beside her, steady in a way that spoke of real rest. From the monitor on the nightstand, Zana's voice drifted in softly, a stream of gentle sounds that felt less like a request and more like commentary on the world she had already begun observing.
Eight months old now.
The thought still caught her sometimes, surprising her with its weight and wonder.
