I could get used to this. –Liana
Liana
I woke up slowly.
The kind of slow that feels like silk, like sunlight through cotton curtains, like the world isn’t demanding anything from you just yet.
I stretched beneath the covers, blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling, then turned my head.
The other side of the bed was empty. But the sheets were rumpled.
The pillow still had the shape of his head.
I reached over and touched it, feeling the faintest trace of warmth left behind.
He’d slept here.
With me.
And now he was gone, but not in the bad way. Not in the I-left-you-behind way.
In the I-had-to-go-to-work-but-didn’t-want-to-wake-you way.
I smiled into the quiet room, suddenly overwhelmed by how real it felt.
This wasn’t a sleepover.
This wasn’t temporary.
I was home.
My eyes drifted to the little nightstand.
My lip balm was there.
My phone charger.
A folded T-shirt of his that I’d claimed as pajamas, slung over the back of a chair.
Little things.
But they made all the difference.
I padded out to the kitchen in my bare feet, hair a mess, wearing one of his shirts that hit my thighs.
And stopped dead at the smell.
Coffee. Toast. Something scrambled.
The table was set with a small plate—toast, fluffy eggs, a sliced avocado arranged like a fan—and a warm mug next to it.
A Post-it note was stuck to the edge of the plate.
Didn’t want to wake you. First morning home deserves soft beginnings. – E
I laughed under my breath and pressed the note to my chest for a second, just to feel something tangible against my heart.
Then I sat down and ate.
The food was simple. Warm. Perfect.
The kind of breakfast someone makes when they’re thinking about you while doing it.
Every bite tasted like care. Like love.
After breakfast, I rinsed the plate and padded into the other room. my old room, but not really a bedroom anymore.
He’d helped me turn it into a workspace.
My laptop sat open on the desk. The new lamp he installed last night glowed softly. My planner lay open next to it, sticky notes and lesson plans spread around like confetti.
I took a deep breath and sat down.
Clicked open Zoom.
Checked today’s student list.
My income wasn’t where I wanted it to be. Not yet.
But I was trying.
I had new trial students this week. I’d written a new landing page.
I was thinking about making a mini course.
It wasn’t just about money. It was about building something that was mine.
I wanted to pull my weight in this life.
In our life.
After lessons, I stretched and wandered back into the main bedroom.
The bed was still unmade.
The light through the curtains painted the room in gold and pale blue.
I looked at the empty side of the bed, the soft pillow dent, the folded blanket at the foot, the note now stuck to the mirror.
And I said it aloud, to no one.
To everything.
“I could get used to this.”
