𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓

He looked over at her in the passenger seat, her face bathed in sunset light-eyes wide, lips parted in awe, as the ocean slowly came into view.

She clutched her chest like it was too full.
"I never thought I'd see it," she whispered.

And he-made of calloused hands and bruised silence-felt something holy stir inside him. Not lust. Not desire.

But reverence.

He reached out, fingers brushing hers over the center console, like passing a sacred offering.

"This is your sky now," he said. "And that sea? That's yours too mama."

She smiled, tears hanging from her lashes like crystal prayers. And in that moment, with the windows down and the wind singing her name, he realized:

She wasn't just heaven sent. She was heaven itself...

And he would never be the same.