It Is The Morning

When you wake, the room is soft grey with early light. Tom’s still asleep beside you, flat on his back now, mouth just slightly open. You listen for the kids, nothing yet. Silence.

You ease out of bed, careful not to disturb him. The carpet is cool under your bare feet as you head to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

Sitting on the loo, you feel that faint, tender ache between your thighs from last night’s touch. You stare at the floor tiles as you pee, the sound loud in the quiet. You give a small sigh as your bladder empties, the sort of release you don’t even think about until it’s happening.

You wipe, drop the tissue into the bowl, and flush.

In the mirror, you catch a glimpse of yourself, hair slightly flattened on one side from the pillow, eyes still soft with sleep.

You peel off your pyjama top, then your bottoms, along with your knickers, and step into the shower. The water is cool at first, making you flinch, before it warms into a steady, steaming stream over your shoulders.

Padding back to the bedroom, you see Tom hasn’t moved. Still asleep.

This is the moment, you think. No kids awake yet, no one needing you. You could slip back into bed, curl into his side, and tell him, lightly, casually, before the day begins.

Your heart picks up at the thought. It feels silly, but also exciting.

You stand there a moment, watching him breathe, working out how to start.