It must be the early hours when he finally slips out for his flight. I’m barely conscious, drifting in that hazy space between dreams and waking, when his lips brush my cheek. “See you soon, baby,” he whispers, voice soft as velvet. Then he’s gone, and the bed feels suddenly too big, too empty.

When my eyes finally flutter open, sunlight is pouring through the massive windows, and I’m alone in his bed. But it doesn’t feel strange anymore. It feels… familiar. Right. I roll over, burying my face in his pillow, inhaling the faint trace of his cologne mixed with us. My whole body hums, alive in a way I haven’t felt in years. This is it. This is what I’ve been dreaming of my entire life.