The Next Morning
When Ethan woke, sunlight was already slipping across the bed. He reached for Tara instinctively—empty.
He sat up, blinking, the sheets cool on her side.
Downstairs, Aunt Martha was tidying the kitchen. "Morning," she said, glancing at him. "She left early. Emergency surgery came in before sunrise."
Ethan leaned on the counter, hair still messy from sleep. "Figures. Guess it's a good thing she didn't get the day off."
"Oh?" Aunt Martha asked, raising a brow.
"Yeah," he said with a half-smile. "Would've felt worse if I had to cancel on her last minute."
"Cancel?"
"I got roped into an awards show tonight," he said, pulling open the fridge. "Manager says I'm walking the red carpet with Samira."
"That actress you worked with?"
"Mhm. Apparently, people online think we're some epic screen couple." He rolled his eyes. "They should try seeing us fight over a prop chair in rehearsal."
Aunt Martha laughed. "At least you're getting out of the house."
