It’s a brutal slap in the face.
I take a deep breath and look around the empty room. For the first time in my life, I eye the bottles ofalcohol on Lucio’s bar and consider knocking some back.
Anything to numb the pain that’s sitting on my chest like a weight.
The funeral was intense. More draining than I ever could’ve expected.
But there’s more that I’m feeling that needs to be unpacked. And I’ve barely begun to scratch thesurface.
I leave in a hurry, happy to put some distance between myself and Lucio’s scent still lingering in theroom.
I go up to my bedroom and swap the black mourning dress for jeans and a t-shirt. I brush out my hairand head back downstairs to the kitchen.
I’m not hungry. In fact, I’ve had no appetite for the last few days.
But cooking has alway
