





After late studio sessions, paint-splattered and wired, she swapped a cotton pillowcase for mulberry silk. The cool glide surprised her forehead into softness. Over weeks, she noticed fewer tangles, calmer mornings, and an almost Pavlovian sigh when cheek met silk, as if the day’s colors finally blended into quiet, forgiving dusk.
He kept a tiny ritual by the crib: one breath of lavender, one breath of chamomile, one slow exhale while rocking. Socks warmed feet; a cashmere throw hugged his shoulders. The baby learned the rhythm too. Months later, the blend alone softened his pulse, even before the chair creaked or lullaby began.
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