My pocket feels heavy.
I force myself to breathe through my nose. To chew. To swallow.
To act like my insides aren’t screaming.
Nico turns to the coffee machine and does something with it. The sound of it is normal. Grounding. He pours something into a mug, then sets it aside like he’s not even drinking it yet.
Like he’s keeping his hands busy, too.
I can’t stand it.
The quiet.
The normal.
The fact that my purse was hanging neatly by the dresser as if someone deliberately put it there.
Like someone may have looked inside it.
My fork taps the plate once. Too loudly.
Nico’s eyes flick to my hand.
Then back to my face.
“What,” he says, like he’s not asking a question. Like he’s naming a fact.
I swallow hard.
“Accident,” I say.
His brow lifts a fraction, and I hate that my body reacts to that like it’s a physical touch. Like my pulse is trained to answer him.
He doesn’t call me on it.
He just steps closer to the island, close enough that his presence affects my ability to breathe properly.
“You got a text while you were sleeping,” he says. “From the nurse.”
My head snaps up.
“What?” I say, too fast.
“It came in while you were out,” he adds. “I only checked in case there was something wrong.”
“What did it say?” I ask, fumbling for the phone.
“Just that he ran a low fever, but it’s down. He’s sleeping, and they’ll call if anything changes.”
Relief hits so hard it makes me sway on the stool.
I close my eyes for a second and breathe.
“Okay,” I whisper.
When I open them again, Nico is watching me intently.
He reaches out, not touching me, but resting his hand on the counter near my plate.
