Page 241 of Fractured Devotion
Alec is somewhere out back, likely tending to the garden beds or organizing files, always steady, always near.
It’s still early morning, just after sunrise. The world is still, wrapped in that soft, golden light.
The clinic isn’t open for the day yet. The doors are still locked, the lights low, the morning just beginning to stir.
Mara’s here early, finishing paperwork at the front desk and chatting easily with a familiar face—one of our long-term patients since we opened, who sometimes stops by for company, no appointment necessary. Their voices drift through the muted space, soft with laughter and easy conversation.
But there’s no need to rush through these early hours.
Not for anyone here.
Least of all me.
I sip my tea, letting the warmth spread through me.
Some mornings, I still wake up with that old weight pressing against my ribs.
But today isn’t one of those mornings.
Today feels wide open and soft around the edges.
I rise from my seat and head inside, leaving the soft morning air behind as I move through the familiar hallways of the clinic. My steps lead me upstairs, into the private quarters above, where the rooms are filled with soft light and the scent of fresh linen.
This space is ours alone—serene, tucked away, and untouched by the world below.
I begin getting ready for the day, pulling on a soft robe, brushing out my hair, and grounding myself in the simple routine.
After a while, I settle onto the couch, the cushions soft beneath me, grounding me in the stillness.
That’s when I hear it—footsteps behind me. Steady and familiar.
Alec appears in the doorway, his gaze lingering on me with an unspoken intent, watching me with that steady gaze that has never tried to rush me.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice calm.
I nod, and my smile is soft when I murmur, “Yeah.”
He crosses the room and settles beside me, his shoulder warm against mine.
We sit there for a moment, staring out at the waves.
“It still surprises me,” Alec says after a while, his voice thoughtful, “how far we’ve come. How much we survived.”
I glance at him, seeing the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the subtle strength in every angle of his face.
“Sometimes it surprises me too,” I admit.
His hand finds mine, our fingers threading together easily.
“But I’m glad we’re here,” he says, squeezing my hand gently.
I smile, leaning into him. “Me too.”
We sit in the stillness for a little longer, the morning stretching unhurriedly and sweetly.
And then I turn toward him, letting the weight of everything between us settle into something more.
Something electric.
