The next few days at Sofia’s place was calm and peaceful. I woke up on the lumpy couch every morning with a stiff neck. Sofia would be humming in the kitchen, usually burning something while cursing at her ancient toaster.
She’d slide a plate toward me with a grin and say something like, “Breakfast of champions, slightly burnt toast and eggs that may or may not have shells in them.”
I’d laugh weakly and eat anyway. It was better than the silence of the penthouse. School helped keep me busy. I threw myself into lectures, took extra notes, stayed late in the library pretending to study when really I was just avoiding going back to Sofia’s too early. I even picked up a couple of short shifts at the diner, nothing full-time, just enough to feel useful. Mike was weirdly nice now that he knew
