SOPHIA
The next morning, I wake up alone.
I lie there for a moment, staring at the empty space beside me. The sheets are cold. He's been gone for hours.
My hip aches. Between my thighs feels raw.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe last night didn't mean what I thought it meant.
I push myself up and head to the bathroom. The bruise on my hip is darker this morning, finger-shaped and ugly. I turn away from the mirror.
The bath water is hot enough to sting. I sink into it and close my eyes.
He came to me last night. That has to mean something.
Doesn't it?
***
His mother is waiting for me when I come downstairs.
"The household needs supplies from the market," she says without preamble. "You'll handle it."
It's not a request.
"Of course," I say.
She hands me a list—long, detailed, full of s
