Beatrice.
The next morning started better than the previous ones.
I woke to pale sunlight filtering through the curtains, and for the first five minutes, my stomach stayed quiet. Not settled—just quiet. Like it was deciding whether to punish me today or grant me temporary mercy.
I sat up slowly, testing the waters. The room didn't spin. My head didn't pound. Small victories.
Gerald was already up—I could hear him moving around the kitchen, the soft clink of dishes, the gurgle of the coffee maker. The smell made my stomach turn slightly, but not violently. Progress.
I checked my phone. One message from Nathaniel, sent early this morning.
Good morning. I hope you slept well. No pressure about meeting today—only if you're feeling better. I'll be at the park from noon until two. Whenever
