Olivia wakes before the sky even glows. The apartment holds a mineral hush. She pads into the kitchen, barefoot, cool tile seeping through her soles. Left hand braced on the sink, she stares at the window: a dark mirror flecked with a thumbprint she once left behind.
She twists the faucet. A thin rope of water arcs into a glass—three-quarters full. She waits for the last dribble, listens to the tiny splash fade. The rim presses against her teeth until her jaw unclenches. Three slow sips, each paused before the next. A faint nausea pulses beneath her breastbone.
She rinses the glass, sets it upside-down with a soft clack. Smooths the dish towel, folds it again. Fridge opens to reveal yogurt, filtered water, a lemon; she closes it untouched. The magnetized notepad tilts—she nudges it level
