Morning slipped into the kitchen on quiet feet.
Ava stood at the stove, staring at the blue flame under the pan long after the butter had melted. The house felt too big and still again. Matthew had left before sunrise—she’d heard the shower, the closet door, the soft thud of his shoes on the stairs. No goodbye. Just the distant click of the front door closing.
Sophie walked in, tying her robe tighter around her waist.
“You’re not going to sit here all day, are you?” she asked.
Ava didn’t look at her. “I’m not sitting.”
“You’re hovering. That’s worse.”
Silence stretched.
Sophie moved closer, leaning her hip against the counter. “Take him lunch.”
Ava blinked slowly. “What?”
“Take him lunch.”
Ava turned now. “Why?”
“Because he’s your husband.”
The words landed somewhere tender.
A
