The house finally felt calmer. Maria moved around Emilia's small kitchen with surprising eas, humming as she opened cabinets, clattered pans and muttered to herself like she was hosting a cooking show no one asked for. She has announced without asking that she was making dinner for all three of them.
“No arguments,” she'd said, wagging a spoon at both Emilia and John. “After all that happened today, we all need food.”
Emilia sat at teg dining table wrapped in a thick blanket, her knees pulled close to her chest. Her hair was messy, eyes heavy, skin pale. She looked fragile but calmer. Her breathing had finally evened out. Across from her, John sat stiffly with a bag of frozen ice pressed to his cheek, jaw clenched again the dull ache.
“You don't have to cook, Maria” Emilia said quiet
