Brewing Coffee
Downstairs, I brewed coffee like I was hosting guests.
Matt hovered behind me, unsettled by this new reality where I wasn’t screaming.
The young woman fidgeted nervously, eyes darting for escape.
I set three mugs on the counter. The coffeemaker’s drip and Matt’s uneven breathing were the only sounds.
“Have a seat,” I said warmly. “What’s your name, sweetheart? How old are you?”
“Uh… Brittany. I’m twenty-seven.”
I smiled. “Ever been married, Brittany?”
“Yes… divorced last year.” She reached for her cup with a shaking hand.
“Any kids?”
“A daughter. She’s three.”
My heart softened. Three years old. Real responsibility.
“That’s such a sweet age, but tough too,” I said gently. “Who’s she with now?”
“My mom.”
“Good. Then drink. Nobody here is going to hurt you.”
She hesitated. “Are you messing with me? You must hate me.”
Matt shot her a warning look—too late. It was time for my first cut.
“Oh honey, no. I don’t hate you. I feel sorry for you.”
