Bryce rested his hands across his chest as he looked at the ceiling and pondered that new reality. He had a wife who was currently treading lightly down the hall toward the stairs. He glanced at the clock. It wasn’t six a.m. yet. He was awake, she was on the way downstairs, but he didn’t push back the covers to get up himself. A month from now he would have it figured out, how best to handle the mornings with her—whether she enjoyed company or needed her space, if she was a cheerful morning person or needed the silence and a cup of coffee. He didn’t think she was up early today because she was a morning person; he was pretty sure she was up because she hadn’t been able to sleep. A new house, new room, a wedding ring on her finger, the inheritance weighing on her—he didn’t have to wonder if she was feeling the stress of the changes. He’d stay out of her way for a while, let her have the peace and quiet of having the house to herself a bit.
