Morning sunlight spilled through the dining room windows, soft and golden, but somehow the warmth never reached me.
I stood outside the double doors for several seconds before gathering enough strength to step inside.
The smell hit me first, fresh coffee, butter, toasted bread and something sweet with cinnamon.
A normal morning at least that was what it was supposed to feel like instead, my stomach turned.
Not because of the pregnancy or the nausea that had become my unwanted companion these past few days. But because normal felt impossible now.
Literally everything in this house felt staged, too polished, too perfect as though everyone had received instructions except me.
The soft scrape of a chair made me look farther down the table.
An elegant older woman sat near the windows, dr
