Chapter — A Morning That Felt
Lighter
Jennifer morning began differently.
For several seconds after waking, she simply stared at the unfamiliar ceiling.
The room was quiet.
No familiar curtains.
No faint sound of traffic from outside her bedroom window.
No scent of the perfume she usually kept on her bedside table.
She blinked slowly, still caught somewhere between sleep and waking, until the unfamiliar surroundings finally registered.
She wasn't in her own room.
She was in the guest room of her parents' house.
She turned her head toward the chair beside the bed.
Her clothes from yesterday were folded carelessly over the back of it, the fabric slightly wrinkled from the previous day's events. Her handbag rested on the floor beside the chair, exactly where she had dropped it the night before.
She looked down.
She was wearing a soft silk nightdress.
Her mother's.
A faint smile touched her lips.
"She must have changed me while I was half asleep."
The thought made her shake her head.
Yesterday had been exhausting.
The confrontation, the revelations, the emotions she had spent so many years keeping buried beneath composure—all of it had left her mentally drained.
There had been moments when her heart seemed determined to beat its way out of her chest.
Fear.
Confusion.
Hope.
And a strange sense of relief she still couldn't properly explain.
Yet this morning was different.
She was still nervous, certainly.
But the nervousness no longer felt like a storm.
Her breathing was steady.
Her hands weren't trembling.
Her chest didn't tighten every few seconds.
For the first time since yesterday, she felt as though she could think.
Anita slowly pushed the blanket aside and placed her feet on the cool floor.
She remained there for a moment before lowering herself to her knees beside the bed.
Her prayer was quiet.
It wasn't elaborate.
It was the same simple habit she had developed over years of disappointment, uncertainty, and hope.
She closed her eyes and prayed for wisdom.
For her family.
For the things she could no longer change.
And, almost reluctantly, for John.
When she finished, she remained kneeling for another few seconds before finally sitting back on her heels.
"Please let him be all right."
The words escaped her quietly.
She opened her eyes.
Only then did she properly study the room.
It wasn't particularly large. The television mounted on the wall was modest, and the furniture was simple, but everything had been arranged with care.
Warm beige walls.
Soft gray curtains.
A wooden bedside table.
A small painting hung opposite the bed.
There was something comforting about the combination.
Anita's appreciation for art had never existed naturally.
John had been responsible for most of it.
She remembered how he could look at something ordinary and notice details other people ignored—the balance of color, the texture, the emotion hidden inside a particular arrangement.
As one of his loyal readers, she had eventually begun looking at things differently.
She wanted to understand his work beyond simply admiring the stories he wrote.
She wanted to understand the mind that created them.
Her thoughts immediately returned to him.
Anita reached for her handbag.
Her phone was buried beneath a small notebook and a packet of tissues. She pulled it out, unlocked the screen, and immediately searched for the latest information about John.
Nothing substantial.
There were a few old articles.
A few comments from readers wishing him a quick recovery.
The official information remained frustratingly vague.
No detailed medical report.
No photograph.
No statement about his condition beyond the fact that he was recovering.
Anita's thumb stopped moving.
She stared at the screen.
"Why don't they just say he's getting better?"
She knew hospitals couldn't release private medical information.
She knew that.
Still, knowing it didn't make the silence easier.
She locked the phone and held it loosely in her hand.
She hoped he was resting.
She hoped he was eating.
She hoped someone was reminding him to take his medication.
And, for some reason, she imagined the doctors standing beside his hospital bed doing exactly that.
The thought brought a tiny smile to her face.
Her phone suddenly vibrated.
Jennifer looked down.
Jessica.
Her expression softened immediately.
She answered.
"Hello?"
"You're awake."
Jessica's voice carried the unmistakable brightness of someone who had been waiting for the call to be answered.
Jennifer leaned back against the headboard.
"Apparently."
Jessica laughed.
"Apparently?"
"I woke up in my mother's guest room wearing her clothes. I'm still trying to figure out when that happened."
"Your mother probably decided you were too exhausted to argue."
"She probably was right."
There was a brief silence.
Jessica's voice became gentler.
"How are you really?"
Jennifer looked toward the window.
Morning sunlight had begun spilling through the curtains, leaving a pale rectangle of gold across the floor.
"I'm better."
"Better?"
"Much better."
Jessica exhaled softly.
"Good. Yesterday I was very nervous."
"I know."
"I kept thinking you were going to collapse."
Jennifer smiled faintly.
"I almost did."
"Almost?"
"Don't exaggerate."
"You nearly made me lose ten years of my life."
"You are dramatic."
"And you're stubborn."Jennifer laughed quietly.
It felt good.
Not forced.
Not polite.
Just laughter.
Jessica seemed to hear the difference.
"Anyway," she said, brightening again, "I have good news."
Jennifer straightened slightly.
"What happened?"
"I went back to the restaurant ."
"?"
"Yes."
"And?"
Jessica paused deliberately.
"I think we are really doing it though the repairing it's a bit slower it's coming to life ."
Jennifer eyes immediately brightened.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Tell me everything."
"It's kitchen still need lot of handling."
Jennifer smile faded slightly.
"How old?"
"Old enough that the walls need some love."
Jennifer laughed.
"That doesn't sound promising."
"Wait. And truly The location is perfect. There's a school nearby, a library a short distance away, and two companies close to the building that means our insight was amazing everything was busting to life just yesterday think if we open then ."
"Seriously?"
"Exactly."
Jennifer sat up straighter.
"And the other?"
"A small shoe factory."
She thought about it.
"So there aren't many restaurants around?"
"Almost none."
Jennifer s smile slowly returned.
"That's actually good."
"I thought you'd say that."
"People who work nearby need somewhere to eat."
"That's what I told myself."
"What about the inside?"
."almost done with the decorations?"
Jessica gave her the figure.
Jennifer became quiet.
"That's good"
"I know.but the price"
"Can we manage it?"
"We'll have to be careful."
Jennifer looked down at her phone, thinking.
The dream she'd once considered almost impossible was beginning to look real.
A place of their own.
Their own sign.
Their own kitchen.
Their own customers.
No landlord staring at them suspiciously.
No one asking where they had come from before deciding whether they deserved a chance.
"Then let's do it," Jennifer said.
Jessica went silent.
"You sound serious."
"I am."
"We'll split everything equally don't think about taking sixty it's not what we agreed upon."
"Fifty-fifty."
"Fifty-fifty."
Jennifer smiled.
"Then we should start planning properly on the logo ."
"That's what I wanted to hear."
Jessica laughed.
For several seconds, neither woman spoke.
There was something almost peaceful about the silence.
Yesterday had been filled with questions about family, blood, secrets, and wounds that had existed for years.
Today, they were talking about walls.
Tables.
Menus.
A kitchen.
A restaurant.
Something ordinary.
Something they could build with their own hands.
Jessica finally spoke again.
"Get some rest first."Jennifer smiled.
"You too."
"And eat breakfast."
"You're beginning to sound like pastor Barnabas."
"Then that pastor must be a sensible man."
Jennifer laughed.
"Don't tell him I said that."
"I won't."
They ended the call.
Jennifer lowered the phone slowly.
The room became quiet again.
She looked toward the window.
The sunlight had grown brighter.
For the first time in a long while, tomorrow didn't feel like something she needed to fear.
It felt like something she could actually look forward to.
She glanced once more at the phone.
John's name wasn't on the screen anymore.
But he remained in her thoughts.
She hoped he was healing.
She hoped that wherever he was, someone was reminding him that he wasn't alone.
Then she smiled faintly.
"Get better, John Bello."
She placed the phone beside her.
"And when you do, maybe we fans Can be at ease ."
Outside, the morning continued its ordinary rhythm.
Cars moved along the road.
Someone called to a neighbor.
A motorcycle passed in the distance.
Life had not stopped because yesterday had changed everything.
Perhaps that was the strange comfort of it.
Even after the hardest revelations, morning still came.
And sometimes, that was enough reason to believe that things could still become better.