The days started to blend together into a cozy new pattern. The morning light was a soft presence when Annabel woke up again in the guest room.
The soundtrack to her new life was the sounds of Fred's apartment such as the distant clatter of a pot being placed on the stove or the soft hum of the refrigerator.
She had spent the last two days there. Where the angry purple had been the bruising on her face was turning to a dull yellow and green.
She had noticed herself in the mirror rather than the stranger from the mansion. The victory was minor but noteworthy.
Fred entered with his own coffee and found her sitting on the couch with a mug of tea.
“Did you sleep well?” He asked.
“Like a log.” Anabelle said.
He was seated opposite her in the armchair.
“What’s the plan for today?”
