Prologue: Night Shift
The house held a different kind of silence that night. It wasn’t lonely or sad—just expectant, like the hush before a summer storm. Libbi set her suitcase down in the narrow hall, glancing at the family photos lining the wall: her as a little girl, her mum’s tired smile, Kev’s arm around them both. Her return home was supposed to feel ordinary, but every second prickled with something unfamiliar and sharp.
Her mum moved briskly in the kitchen, the blue nurse’s uniform almost blending into the dim light. She rattled off instructions—food in the fridge, don’t forget to lock up, Kev would be around if she needed anything. She pressed a kiss to Libbi’s temple, the scent of hospital soap and peppermint on her skin. “Call me if you need to, love. Double shift tonight. Kev will keep you company.”
Libbi only smiled, pretending not to notice how her mum’s eyes flicked toward the living room where Kev’s deep voice rumbled low, just out of sight. Libbi wandered in, toes curling in the faded carpet. She wore one of Kev’s old t-shirts, the hem falling halfway down her thighs, her bare legs stretched out as she settled onto the sofa.
Kev appeared in the doorway, a beer in hand, pausing as if he’d forgotten how to enter a room she was in. There was a beat—a second too long—where his eyes traveled over her, a flicker of surprise or something darker crossing his face. He looked away quickly, but not before Libbi noticed the way his jaw tensed, the muscle fluttering just beneath the stubble.
She pretended to focus on the TV, scrolling past channels until she landed on a late-night movie, the kind with too much skin and too little plot. The sound was soft but unmistakable—breathy laughter, the slow build of a lover’s touch, a woman’s moan that seemed to hang in the air longer than it should. Libbi’s cheeks burned, but she didn’t change the channel. She crossed her legs, letting the oversized shirt ride up another inch, feigning indifference as Kev lingered by the kitchen, his gaze prickling the back of her neck.
Her mum hurried past, keys jingling, phone already in hand. “Don’t wait up!” she called, her smile forced and tired as she ducked out the door. The lock clicked, leaving Libbi and Kev in a house that suddenly felt too small, too quiet.
Kev stayed in the doorway, sipping his beer, pretending to watch the screen. The air between them thickened, stretched, became heavy with things neither dared to say. Libbi glanced over—just a flick of her eyes—and caught him looking. He looked away, but his cheeks were a shade darker, and his grip on the bottle was tight.
She wondered if he noticed how much she’d changed since university—how much her body had filled out, how she moved differently, how she was no longer the girl in those faded photos on the wall. She wondered if he could smell her perfume, or if he could hear the thrum of her pulse in the hush.
The movie’s soft soundtrack filled the space between them—breathy, intimate, full of promises neither could make. Libbi let herself relax into the sofa, shifting just enough to remind herself (and maybe him) that she was home, that she was grown, that she was not a child anymore.
For a long moment, the only sound was the TV and the slow, measured breath of two people holding a hundred secrets in their chests.
Tonight, something was different.
Tonight, a story began.
