I put on a simple dress and went downstairs, still tying the belt around my waist. The house was unusually quiet. Too quiet for a home that had hosted chaos less than twenty-four hours ago.
I moved straight into the kitchen, needing routine. Normalcy. Something steady.
I placed the kettle on the cooker, slid two slices of bread into the toaster, and leaned against the counter while waiting. The marble felt cold under my palms.
And just like that — the thought came again.
This counter.
The exact spot where he had cornered me days ago. Where his hand had pressed into the marble beside my waist. Where his breath had ghosted over my neck like a promise he had no right making.
My stomach tightened.
Why am I even thinking about this?
The kettle whistled sharply, snapping me back. I grabbed it too fast, careless, distracted.
A sharp sting shot through my fingers.
"Ouch!" I screamed, dropping the kettle instantly. Hot water splashed near my feet.
