Chapter Nineteen: Ordinary Miracles
They moved into a small apartment with crooked floors and a window that refused to open all the way.
The kind of place no one posted on social media.The kind of place with chipped paint, uneven shelves, and a radiator that clanked like it was haunted.
It wasn't beautiful.
It was real.
Sunlight slipped in every morning through the stubborn half-open window, painting pale gold stripes across the worn wooden floor. Outside, traffic hummed and someone always seemed to be arguing on the street below. Inside, it was just them, learning how to exist without running.
Asher tried to make coffee the first morning.
He burned it.
The second time, he somehow made it taste like ash and regret.
The third time, he stared into the mug like it had personally betrayed him.
"This," he muttered, waving the coffee pot, "is harder than summoning fire."
Lena laughed so hard she had to lean against the counter, clutching her mug before she dropped it. "You've literally fought demons," she said. "And you're losing to caffeine."
"I was not prepared for this level of cruelty."
She took a sip of his failed attempt and made a face. "Okay, yeah. This one's a war crime."
They ended up drinking tea instead.
They argued about stupid things.
About whose turn it was to do the dishes.About whether grocery lists were necessary.About how many throw pillows was too many.
"It's eight," Lena insisted, stacking another one on the couch.
"It's a fortress," Asher said. "I can't even see the couch anymore."
"That's the point."
He pretended to glare, but the truth was, he loved it. Loved the softness. Loved how everything here was ridiculous and unnecessary and gentle.
Asher discovered music that wasn't designed to go viral. Songs with messy vocals, strange lyrics, and feelings that didn't fit into algorithms. Lena played them in the kitchen while she cooked, and sometimes she grabbed his hands and made him dance with her.
He was terrible at it.
She was worse.
They spun and laughed and bumped into furniture, and once they knocked over a lamp and just sat on the floor laughing until their sides hurt.
Some nights, Asher woke up shaking.
Dreams of Hell.Of chains.Of contracts written in blood.Of being owned.
The darkness always tried to follow him.
But Lena was there.
She would roll toward him in the quiet, wrap her arms around him, and press her forehead to his.
"You're here," she'd whisper."You're safe."
And slowly, the panic would loosen its grip.
No one was watching them.
No cameras.No crowds.No gods or demons keeping score.
Just two people in a crooked apartment with too many pillows and a coffee machine they still didn't fully understand.
And somehow…
That was the miracle.
They weren't rich.They weren't famous.They weren't perfect.
They were tired.They were healing.They were learning how to breathe.
But they were free.
And for the first time in both their lives, that was enough.