I sat down at the table and began to eat.
The broth was warm, the taste soft on my tongue—comforting. It didn’t fix anything, but at least it was mine.
Halfway through the bowl, footsteps stormed into the kitchen.
Nathan and Gabriel.
“There you are,” Nathan said, glancing at the table. “Where’s our food?”
Gabriel followed with a frown. “Isn’t it done yet? What did you even make?”
I didn’t look up. “Nothing. This is just for me.”
Nathan blinked. “You only made food for yourself? Didn’t you hear me say you should cook for us, and also Sabrina? Where is it now?”
“I’m not your cook,” I said simply, spooning another bite into my mouth. “I didn’t even agree.”
Silence. Then the scoff.
“This is because of Sabrina again, isn’t it?” Gabriel snapped. “God, Elena, when are you going to let this go?”
I didn’t answer.
“She’s sick. She’s hurt,” Nathan added. “Why do you have to be so bitter all the time? What, you think we’re supposed to just abandon her so you can get attention?”
Still, I kept eating.
Bite after bite, the silence growing louder around me.