Monday morning, I wake up to sunlight streaming through windows I chose and the sound of Lily singing off-key in the shower.
For a disorienting moment, I don't know where I am. Then it hits—my apartment. My space. My life.
The realization should be pure relief. Instead, it's equal parts exhilaration and terror.
I make coffee in the kitchen that's mine, using the expensive espresso machine Marcus helped install yesterday. The irony isn't lost on me—even my independence has his fingerprints on it.
Lily emerges in her bathrobe, hair wrapped in a towel. "Morning, roomie. How'd you sleep?"
"Surprisingly well. You?"
"Like the dead. That mattress is a cloud." She pours herself coffee. "So, what's the plan for your first day of freedom?"
"Class at eleven. Then meeting with Sarah to go over
