The Morning Light
When I woke, dawn had spilled across the floor like gold. Sarah lay beside me, her hair tangled against my arm, her breathing slow and even. Outside, life had resumed — cars, footsteps, the city stretching awake.
But in here, everything was still.
Still — and whole.
I turned to look at her, and for a fleeting moment, I thought of that nervous man in the pharmacy yesterday. So focused on what he thought mattered. So unaware that the real miracle wasn’t what was in his pocket, but what was waiting behind his door.
