The days after I moved most of my things to Sofia’s apartment started to feel the sams, like a loop, like I was repeating same day over and over again, I could not admit it was my life now, instead I was forcing myself to believe it was normal. I woke up on her couch each morning, made burnt toast while Sofia complained about everything from her job to the weather, and then headed to the diner for my shift. It wasn’t glamorous. But it was mine. Or at least, it felt closer to mine than anything had in months.
That afternoon shift at the diner was busier than usual. Maria had warned me the customers were still acting weird about the ownership thing, but today it felt manageable. One older regular even tipped me extra and told me the pie tasted better when I was the one serving it. I laughed
