#Chapter 24: On Record

Amelia I woke up in his bed again. I hadn’t started the night there—just like the other nights I told myself I was going to sleep on the couch. But somehow, I always ended up here. Nestled beneath his blanket, my cheek against the pillow that smelled like him, warmth surrounding me like he’d wrapped the night around me with intention. And now, every morning, I woke up here. Even when I started on the couch, I ended up wrapped in his sheets. It was like he waited until I was fully asleep before reaching for me—holding all my weight in his arms, carrying me to the one place I could actually do something. To where I made a difference. To where he needed me. And I liked it. I liked knowing I helped. That even if nothing else made sense, this did. Still, when I opened my eyes and the hush of morning settled around me, the realization always hit the same way—a strange mix of comfort and panic, soft heat and a sharp edge. I never knew what to say when he was awake. I never knew if