TESSA.
The room was too quiet.
Not peaceful, quiet, awkward quiet. The kind where every tiny sound turns enormous, where you could swear you heard a heartbeat that wasn't even yours.
The kind of silence that makes you realize a stranger's breathing is suddenly the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground.
I stood frozen in the center of what Robert called our room, staring at the bed like it was something strange and dangerous, some wild creature I had never seen but was expected to lie next to.
The sheets were a stormy charcoal gray, perfectly straight, crisp, untouched, the kind of bed someone slept in without moving an inch or, judging by how smooth it was, didn't sleep in at all.
But the scent was unmistakable.
Warm, woodsy, masculine.
His.
It wrapped around me in invisible waves, and I swore my knees almost buckled.
Did we ever stay together?
Had I ever fallen asleep beside him?
Had I curled into that scent and called it home?
