The kitchen was already alive when Aimee walked in, pots clanging, burners roaring, voices overlapping in half-finished sentences. Sweat clung to the air, thick and unavoidable, settling on her skin the moment she tied her apron.
She paused for a second longer than usual.
Just one breath.
Her stomach twisted.It wasn't violent or sharp, Just enough to remind her it was there. Just enough to remind her that nothing about her body belonged to her alone anymore.
“Don’t start,” she muttered under her breath, pressing her palm lightly against her lower abdomen before forcing herself forward.
She checked in at the corner desk like always, scribbling her name and time on the sheet. Her handwriting looked shakier than usual. She stared at it for a second, then closed the book before she could
