Tomorrow The Cracks Might Widen

Lily

The morning crept in like a whispered promise, golden light sneaking through the sheer curtains, pooling across the bed in long, lazy strokes. I stirred against the warmth wrapped around me — Daniel — and for a moment, everything felt impossibly soft, impossibly right.

His arm was slung heavy over my waist, his face buried in the crook of my neck. His breathing was slow and even, like he didn't have a single care in the world.

For a long time, I just lay there, letting myself believe that was true.

But even in the quiet, a tiny, sharp part of me stirred — the part that had always known good things came with expiration dates. That no matter how tightly you held onto something, it could still slip through your fingers.

I pressed closer to him anyway.

Maybe, for once, I could pretend.

His breath tickled my skin as he murmured, "Are you awake?"

I smiled without opening my eyes. "Maybe."