Olivia woke slowly. Not with a jolt, not with the familiar tightness in her shoulders or the dull ache in her lower back, but the way people were probably meant to wake—drifting upward through layers of sleep, warmth lingering, breath deep and even. She lay still for a moment,

Dessert plates were cleared, the last of the wine poured. The break room felt comfortably insulated now, as though the world outside had agreed to wait its turn. The light beyond the windows hadn’t shifted much at all. Olivia noticed. “…Is it just me,” she asked, “or has it

After lunch, they didn’t rush. Charles let the break room conversation taper naturally, mugs emptied, plates cleared, the last crumbs of lemon tart dispatched with quiet satisfaction. Miss LaDonna rose first, smoothing her skirt. “I’ll see you later,” she said to Olivia, her tone warm and certain. “There’

Olivia didn’t remember Charles leaving. One moment he had been there, calm and solid, frost still melting at their feet — and the next she was alone in the hallway, staring at her own front door like it had somehow betrayed her. She stood there for a long moment before

The click of her boots echoed against linoleum as she stepped inside. The air was cool—just the right temperature—and faintly smelled of stale popcorn, old film stock, and something herbal. Maybe lavender. Maybe time. The front lobby felt like stepping into a 1970s dentist’s office preserved in

The spoon made a dull clink against the chipped bowl as Olivia stirred her cereal listlessly. The milk was lukewarm. The cereal itself—off-brand cornflakes from a dented box—was soggy and just this side of going stale, the way paper tastes if you let it sit on your

Olivia Harrison is barely getting by in Trenton, New Jersey.