terrible headache woke me up in the morning. My eyes opened reluctantly to the narrow strips of sunlight that sneaked through the gaps in the curtains. The bright rays pricked my temples, making the ache in my head throb even more. My phone was nowhere in sight. I fumbled around on the nightstand, under the bed, and finally behind the couch cushions before I realized it had disappeared somewhere in the haze of last night.
I wrapped myself tightly in a soft bathrobe, the fabric barely soothing my aching body, and shuffled downstairs. My mind was muddled, my thoughts not yet clear, but hunger—and some sense of responsibility—pushed me forward.
I remembered faintly that Mam used to make soup when Dad came home drunk, the kind that warmed you from the inside out. My hands moved on autopilot,
