Chapter 72 Me And You

• Sage
• The morning light spilled through the tall windows like warm honey, painting long golden stripes across the hardwood floors. I drifted downstairs on silent feet, Sage’s oversized shirt swallowing me whole, the soft fabric brushing my thighs with every step. The house felt too still, too empty without his steady, grounding presence, but the faint clink of utensils and a low, familiar hum drew me straight to the kitchen.
• Ellen stood at the stove, back to me, swaying gently as she cracked eggs into a bowl with practiced flicks of her wrist. The air was thick with the scent of fresh coffee and melting butter, and something else—warm bread, maybe, or the promise of bacon. My gaze snagged on the counter almost immediately: one lone mug, black coffee cooling inside, barely half gone. No smudge of lipstick. No question whose it was.