The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. I stirred in bed, feeling the lingering effects of last night's passionate reunion with Carmen.
My body felt a pleasant ache, a reminder of how thoroughly she had loved me. But as the memories of our fight and the pain she had caused resurfaced, a mix of anger and longing settled in my chest.
I turned over, expecting to see her beside me, but the bed was empty. A pang of disappointment hit me, but before I could dwell on it, the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted into the room. I sat up, running a hand through my tangled hair, and noticed a tray on the bedside table. On it was a steaming cup of coffee, a croissant, and a small vase with a single red rose.
A note was propped against the vase. I picked it up and unfolded the paper, recognizing Carmen's neat handwriting.
