PART 2
By six the next morning, I was already cooking.
The house filled with the scent of roasted duck, garlic butter, fresh bread, cinnamon apples, and premium coffee—his favorite brand. The dining table was set for twelve. Crystal glasses caught the early light.
Diane came downstairs first, draped in pearls and superiority.
She paused, taking it all in. Then she smiled.
“Well,” she said, “pain really does teach.”
“Good morning, Diane,” I replied, setting down a dish.
