Mrs. Stephens starts the first cup and the heavy smell of coffee hits the air. A couple minutes later, she walks back and places two cups on the table before pulling out a chair.
"Thanks," I say, taking a sip. She laughs when I make a face. It's the crappiest cup of anything I've ever had.
"Yeah, it's pretty bad," she admits, pushing her cup away. Then she c***s her head as if she's sensing my emotions.
And she probably is. I'm getting used to it, I think, her reading me.
"Well, at this rate, the hospital should probably set you up a cot." She laughs, trying to lighten my mood.
I'm sure she knows I feel like s**t for putting her and Brad through hell. I take another sip, glad it tastes terrible. It's exactly what I deserve.
Mrs. Stephens reaches for my hand across the table and I
