Steam curled from the half-open bathroom door, fogging the mirror and the glass panel of the shower.
Amelia stepped in, towel wrapped around her, hair dripping down her back like ink.Her eyes met his in the mirror—he was brushing his teeth, bare chest still damp from his own shower.
Their reflections stood shoulder to shoulder.Too close.Too familiar.Too wrong.
He spit into the sink, wiped his mouth, and gave a half-smile.
"You still take scorching hot showers. Always did."
She froze.
Her grip on the towel tightened.
There it was again—another thread from a life she didn't remember,pulling her closer to a truth she wasn't ready for.
She wanted to tell him to stop.To shut up.To forget whatever past he clung to.
But part of her wanted to hear more.Wanted to believe it wasn't just him holding on.That somewhere inside her—the version who loved him—was still alive.
The air between them was thick like honey left too long in a jar—cloying, golden, and impossible to escape once it stuck.
She moved to the sink, brushing past his shoulder.Electricity.That stupid, stupid electricity again.
It wasn't attraction.It was recognition without understanding.Like muscle memory for a kiss she hadn't had—yet somehow still mourned.
She leaned over the sink, splashing cold water on her face.Trying to drown the heat,trying to stop the ache in her chest.
Then, without warning—
Flash.A memory.
Their wedding night.Her in a white satin slip.Him whispering into her collarbone,"I'll never let you sleep alone again."
She gasped, nearly choking on her breath.
He turned sharply."What did you remember?"
She looked up, eyes wide, lips trembling.
"Why do I feel like… you promised me something you never kept?"
He didn't answer.
Because guilt—was louder than any confession.