Carlos walked out of the kitchen with a freshly fried egg in hand. Steam rose gently as he moved, like it was the most natural thing in the world-like he really was the man of this house, her husband, doing exactly what they did every morning-quiet, comforting, routine.
He set the food on the table, went back to wash his hands, and came out again, casually nudging Fiona into her seat without asking.
A piece of golden-brown toast slid in front of her, and he gave her a warm look. "Time to eat."
Fiona sat there staring blankly at the forks that had appeared in her hand. The softness in his tone threw her off.
Carlos held up a spoon of porridge to her lips. "If you're not gonna eat, I've got no problem feeding you."
"Carlos..." she tried to reason with him, but her voice crac
