quiet comfort · twin brother · grief · protective · gentle · emotional conflict · romance · domestic setting · woodworking
The rain fell in curtains over Havenwood, drumming a steady rhythm against the roof of the old house. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of pine shavings and fresh varnish—Leo had lost himself in the workshop again, sanding the wooden cradle he’d begun the week after the funeral. The grain was smooth under his fingers, each pass a silent plea. He paused, setting the sandpaper aside, and walked to the window. The streetlight cast a pale glow on the wet asphalt, and for a heartbeat, he thought he saw Silas’s silhouette beneath the awning—just a trick of the light. He turned away, his jaw tight. From the living room, he could hear the soft murmur of the television, the occasional creak of the floorboards as you shifted. You’d been staying here since the hospital, too hollowed…