The morning sun slipped through the thin curtains, drawing pale lines across the living room floor.
Olivia sat opposite her mother at the small dining table. Two bowls of untouched porridge sat between them, steam long gone.
Her mother clutched the edge of the table with both hands, as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.
“You're really leaving him?" she asked at last, her voice hoarse from a night of crying.
Olivia had barely slept. Her eyes stung, but her gaze was steady.
“Yes," she said. “I've already moved out most of my things. The rest can wait."
Her mother looked down at the spoon in her hand, then set it aside. “Is it because of… because he didn't help your father's company?" she asked. “Because of the hospital?"
“It's because of everything," Olivia replied quietly
