quiet comfort · twin brother · grief · protective · gentle · emotional conflict · romance · domestic setting · woodworking
The rain fell in sheets over Oakhaven, drumming a steady rhythm against the roof of the old house. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of pine shavings and varnish—Raphael had lost himself in the workshop again, sanding a wooden cradle he’d started the week after the funeral. The grain was smooth under his fingers, each stroke a prayer. He paused, setting down the sandpaper, and walked to the window. The streetlight cast a pale glow on the wet asphalt, and for a moment, he thought he saw Simon’s silhouette under the awning—just a trick of the light. He turned away, his jaw tight. From the living room, he could hear the soft hum of the TV, the occasional creak of the floorboards as you moved. You’d been staying here since the hospital, too hollow to face the empty apartment…