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She caught herself halfway there and slowly lowered her hand. The silence settled between us. I lifted the coffee. Forced myself to drink. It burned all the way down.

“Would you like me to put something aside for her?” Mrs. Reid asked gently.

My gaze drifted to the doorway. My focus on the hallway beyond it.

“Yes.”

She waited. “Soup? The tomato?”

I nodded. “Fresh bread.”

Mrs. Reid smiled softly. “I’ll leave it warming.”

“No.”

She looked back at me.

I set the mug down. “I’ll do it.”

She hesitated only for a heartbeat before stepping aside.

I opened the refrigerator. Tomato soup. The loaf I’d cut for her yesterday. I unbuttoned my sleeves, rolled them. Then set to work. My hands moved on instinct.

Pan.

Ladle.

Butter.

Bread.

Simple things.

Quiet things.

Things that made the waiting feel like I was doing something.

Mrs.Reid watched from the doorway.

“She’ll come back,” she said gently.

My hand tightened around the wooden spoon. “I know.”

It wasn’t certainty.

It was hope.

And somehow…

Hope frightened me more than certainty ever had. I stirred. Cut. Buttered and poured a ladle into two bowls. Steam drifted lazily into the air. I watched it disappear. Then I left the kitchen and made my way back to the study.

My stomach growled.

I ignored it.

I pulled out my chair.

Didn’t sit.