Delaney and Vincent spent their night loving one another and the next day slept in late into the afternoon. When Delaney woke up to find the sun trying to make its way in through the curtains, she smiled and stretched like a cat.
She was naked in bed with her husband. It was such a strange thing. She smiled happily, her heart filled with love for the still sleeping man. She propped herself up and looked down on the expanse of him, blankets thrown off from the summer heat.
One muscled arm was around her, the other was flung up over his eyes in an attempt to block out the light. She looked at his face and wondered how she hadn't been able to see the beauty in it. He was just as handsome as he had been before, if not more so.
She looked at the scarred wound on his thigh, the one she'd only seen the night in the hospital when it had still been bandaged. It was larger than the others. Deeper, she imagined, with more scars coming off of it than the others.
