The next morning, the sun shone through Lucy's childhood bedroom curtains, casting pale shadows across the floor. As she tried to blink away sleep, she forgot about the leather jacket, Adrian's coldness, and the suffocating high-society dinners. She was Lucy again.
But then the distant sound of her father's oxygen machine echoed down the hall, and the reality of her life returned to her chest.
She climbed out of bed and headed downstairs. The kitchen was warm, filled with the comforting scent of toasted bread and freshly brewed coffee. Her mother, Margaret, was already at the stove cooking breakfast.
"Good morning, Mom," Lucy said, her voice still thick with sleep.
Margaret turned, a soft smile lighting up her tired face. "Good morning, sweetheart. You’re up early. I was just about t
