SABRINA MORALES
There was a man in the kitchen. Barefoot and bubbly, humming a tune I was sure I knew but couldn’t quite remember.
My neck ached from carrying my head, and everything felt heavy like lead and boulders were piled on my shoulders.
“What the…” I grumbled quietly to myself.
My brain was processing things slowly, and time seemed to drag.
Then, bit by bit, it all came back.
Blaze. Mum’s wedding. The semi-family dinner last night. All the drinks I had.
I made a mental note to watch my alcohol intake around ‘Uncle Jason.’
Jo, the man in the kitchen, grabbed the pot and moved it to a different stove. That one didn’t have a flame burning yet.
From the corner of his eye, he saw me.
“You’re up early,” Jo said as he continued doing whatever he was doing.
He looked like he wa
