The bed was too soft.
That was the first thing she noticed.
The mattress dipped beneath her weight, caving instead of resisting, pulling her into it. Her body should have welcomed the comfort, should have melted into it without question.
But it didn't.
It lingered on the absence of hard floorboards pressing into her spine. The roughness of fabric laid over splintered wood, the familiar ache in her joints from too many nights on something meant for survival, not rest.
The cabin floor had been solid. Unforgiving. But it had been theirs.
This bed—this room—was not.
