“Coffee.” My voice comes out quiet and weak.
“Erica, did you eat today?”
He already knows the answer. He wants me to say it and stop deflecting.
I swallow.
“No.”Sir. It’s on the tip of my tongue, and I barely bite it back, knowing how dangerous that territory is.
“How much coffee? Any water?”
I lift my shoulders in another useless shrug.
His eyes narrow a fraction. Not anger. Concern. Which is worse, because I don’t know what to do with it.
He takes a breath like he’s choosing his words.
“Was anyone there with you?”
My stomach drops.
The shame comes fast, hot, immediate, as if having no one else in our lives is something we should be sorry about. Like being a family of two is not enough.
I keep my gaze down.
“No,” I say.
The word feels small. It shouldn’t. But it does.
His face changes. Not dramatically. Just… something in his eyes softens in a way I don’t like seeing directed at me.
I avert my eyes.
“Maddy left,” I add, defensive and pathetic at the same time. “She had to go back. She can’t just— She has her own life.”
It occurs to me he has no idea who Maddy is.
“You could’ve called me.”
The air shifts just a fraction.
I look back before I can stop myself.
He’s not standing like he usually does, squared shoulders, command posture, a man who runs a city after dark without getting his hands dirty.
He’s just… a man in my kitchen, watching me like he actually sees me.
And his tone is gentle.
Not performative. Not over-the-top. Not pity.
Just gentle.
It makes my chest tighten.
“I didn’t—” I start, then stop because I don’t know what excuse to use that doesn’t make me sound worse.
He doesn’t push for one.
