Seven days left on the contract.
Fina knew this the way she knew everything now — not as a countdown, not as a wall, just as information. A fact that existed alongside other facts. The pasta pot was clean. Frank had chosen navy. Phoebe wanted burnt orange. The architecture program started in September. There were seven days left on a contract that had stopped mattering approximately forty days ago.
She went to work.
Came home.
Made dinner.
Lived her life.
---
Monday Ethan came for dinner without being asked.
Not Sunday dinner — Monday. A regular evening. He showed up at seven with groceries and the particular expression of a man who had decided something and wasn't making a performance of it.
She looked at the groceries.
"You're cooking?" she said.
"James gave me a recipe," he s
