Pattering of rain on the roof awakens me. Pale light draws the grey walls even closer. Outside, I can hear the songbirds welcoming the day, cheerful, no matter the weather. The smell of coffee drifts up from the kitchen, the new programmable machine fulfilling its duty. I stretch, planning my day. Start some bread, then walk the trail while it’s rising. But not yet. Summer is fading, and the morning lacks warmth. I roll over, reaching for my own personal furnace. He’s not there. The blanket is undisturbed, the pillow cold.
Steel stabs my chest, my breath vanishes.
I remember.