Kayla pov
I woke up Sunday still turning it over, the image of my aunt's face frozen in the kitchen doorway refusing to fade no matter how many times I told myself I'd imagined the severity of it.
*It was probably a bill,* I told myself, pulling on a sweater, heading downstairs to the smell of coffee and eggs, everything appearing normal from the kitchen doorway.
My aunt stood at the stove, humming faintly, though something in her movements felt slightly off, a beat too careful, too deliberate.
"Morning," I said, settling at the table.
"Morning, sweetheart. Eggs?"
"Sure."
She served breakfast easily enough, sliding into her usual chair across from me, though her eyes kept drifting toward the window, toward nothing in particular, distracted in a way that didn't match the easy convers
