Wilson stared at his phone screen after the call went dead, and a strange, unshakable jittery feeling coiled in his chest.
"Wilson, what's wrong?" Luisa craned her neck closer, holding up a hand wrapped so thick in bandages it looked like a whole pig's foot. "Isn't Queenie coming back yet?"
"Leave her alone," Wilson hurled his phone down onto the sofa, irritation sharp in his voice. "She's just gotten too spoiled with all this nonsense. A couple meals without food and she'll crawl back on her own."
He trundled into the kitchen, and his brow immediately snapped into a deep frown at the sight of the fancy, complicated integrated stove looming over the counter.
In five long years, he had never once set foot in this room to cook. In his memory, everything was always taken care of without a
