The next morning, when Evan woke up, the space beside him was already empty.
He sat up, running a hand through his messy hair, and walked out of the bedroom. A warm light was on in the kitchen, and a pot of oatmeal was simmering on the stove, but Emma was nowhere in sight.
He scratched his head, annoyed that she wasn't there. Just as he was about to call out, he heard a noise at the front door.
Emma, fully dressed, walked in carrying some pastries and toast.
Seeing him, she casually unwrapped the red scarf from her neck and asked, "You're up?"
"Yeah."
Evan grunted in response.
"There's oatmeal in the pot, and I bought some pastries. It'll have to do."
She carried the breakfast into the kitchen and came out a moment later with the oatmeal on the table.
After pouring two bowls and sitting down, Emma noticed Evan was still standing there. She looked up and asked, "Aren't you eating? If you have something urgent at the office, you should go."
Without waiting for his response, she sat down, picked up a piece of pastry, and began breaking it into small pieces to eat with her oatmeal.
Her body wasn't what it used to be. If she skipped breakfast, she felt completely drained for the rest of the day.
Last time, she had been in such a rush to get to the hospital that she hadn't eaten and almost fainted on the way. Luckily, she had a few pieces of candy in her purse.
Evan walked over in silence and sat down. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs.
It was warm inside, so he wouldn't get cold.
He watched Emma across the table, seriously eating her oatmeal, and felt an unfamiliar unease.
This was unusual. Far too unusual.
Since he had come home yesterday, Emma hadn't lost her temper once. Not only that, she hadn't made any sarcastic remarks or tried to provoke him into a fight.
She was acting normal, as if nothing had happened between them.
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