The late afternoon light was soft and gold, the kind of sunlight that filtered through tree branches like a secret being passed from leaf to leaf. I sat on the back porch with Edward, each of us wrapped in our own blanket. The air was crisp enough to make it necessary, but not uncomfortable. The world felt quiet out here—quieter than usual, like it was holding its breath.
Edward had been sipping tea, the mug loose in his hands. He hadn't said much yet, just watching the garden like it had something to tell him. I waited, not wanting to rush him. I'd come out here with the excuse of checking in on him, but we both knew what I was really waiting for.
Eventually, he set his mug down with a soft clink against the wooden table. His hands stayed around it, like he needed the warmth even if he wasn't drinking.
"I've been thinking," he said at last, eyes still fixed on the garden. "About when to tell him."
The words settled into the space between us like stones in water, quiet but heavy.
