Page 52 of Nyx

I'd rather be safe and lonely than cling to hope that the man I'm dating doesn't plan to hurt me. With the way Graham flipped a switch from breaking stuff to stabbing me, I can't see a future that would include another person in my life. I just can't take the risk.

"How long have you worked here?" I ask when the conversation dies down.

"Two and a half years," she answers. "It started as part-time. I was only coming in to help with breakfast and lunch, and the residents were responsible for the evening meal. But when I needed to find something more stable and turned in my notice, they offered me a full-time position. So now I do all three meals, giving the residents time in the evening for themselves."

"Cooking three meals a day takes so much work," I say.

"Some days I have a little downtime between lunch and dinner, but I usually fill it with grocery shopping, meal planning and prepping, and kitchen inventory."

"So you work from seven in the morning until the evening meal is over?"

"I know it seems like a lot, but the overtime is fantastic, and I'd just be sitting at home staring at the wall of my apartment if I wasn't here."

"I get that," I say, knowing that's exactly what I do every day when I leave.

"Plus, it feels like family here. I haven't had a family in a long time. Being needed, even though I'm getting paid, makes me feel better about myself."

"Helping others is your calling," I say, smiling at her. "I think it's the same for me."

I was a helpful person long before my life got turned upside down. I don't know if it was training as a young child from my parents or what, but I have always felt such pride when I could solve a problem for someone else or assist them with something they were struggling with.

"Are those pancakes?"

We turn our attention to Dean as he runs into the kitchen.

The boy still looks as if he hasn't gotten a good night's sleep. The dark circles under his eyes indicate that, even if I hadn't seen Denise's overnight notes about his nightmares.

"It is," Andrea says. "Have you washed your hands this morning?"

Dean opens his mouth, and I know a little lie is going to slip out, but Andrea raises an eyebrow, a steaming pancake sitting on her spatula.

"I was just going to do that!" he exclaims before running from the room.

We both chuckle as the other residents start filing into the kitchen.

"I'm so sorry I didn't come down to help this morning," Traci says, her hand once again on her stomach.

I do my best to smile, locking my eyes on her tired-looking face rather than dropping them to her swollen belly.

"I can't believe I'm still getting sick so far into my pregnancy," Traci continues.

"I was sick every single day with Daisy," Dana says, scrunching her nose before she takes a seat at the table. "It took almost two weeks after she was born for it to stop."

I know everyone has the right to complain when they're not feeling well, but what some people wouldn't give to be sick every morning, knowing that in the end they'll have a precious baby to show for every day of nausea.

"That's awful," Traci says. "Really? Even after?"

Dana nods, smiling at Dean as he rushes back in, hands waving as droplets of water drip from them. "All clean!"

"Just in time," Andrea says, placing a plate of pancakes in the center of the table. "Eggs have just another minute."

Dean digs into the pile of pancakes, bouncing happily in his chair.

Melissa and Caroline enter the room, chatting quietly as they take their seats.

"Daisy joining us this morning?" I ask.

"She's fixing her hair," Dana explains. "She mentioned something about flyaways and hating her hair."