Tessa lingered by the counter, watching as Klara crouched on the floor, gathering the broken pieces of the mug. Her fingers trembled slightly, though her face remained calm.
“You know,” Tessa said softly, “you could get someone to clean that up for you.”
Klara didn’t look up. “I’m fine. I can do it myself.”
“Are you okay? You seem a little off.”
“I just heard my husband was murdered, how do you expect me to feel?” Klara shot at her.
“I’m sorry about that. I really am.” Tessa whispered.
“Keep your pity. I don’t need it.” Klara scoffed. She struggled to arrange the pieces on her palms until — “f**k!” She winced as one of the shards gave her a slight cut.
Tessa frowned. “You’re bleeding.”
“I said I’m fine.” She snarled.
For a moment, silence filled the space, only the faint clink of
