The room darkened, but she didn’t rise to go. Instead, she lingered in the dim glow, watching how his outline merged with the shadows. There was something in the way his presence filled the silence, steady and protective, that made her ignore the clock and stay longer than she should.
She told herself it wasn’t recklessness—it was comfort. His shadow, tall against the wall, felt more secure than the empty bed waiting for her elsewhere. The darkness didn’t scare her when he was near; it tempted her, wrapped her in a secrecy that no one outside would ever suspect.
When he shifted closer, she didn’t move away. The night belonged to them in that moment, not because of what they did, but because of what they allowed themselves to feel. She stayed past reason, past caution, because sometimes a shadow can hold a woman more completely than daylight ever could.