Chapter 5

Forcing myself out of bed, I stumble into the kitchen, already knowing I’ll find Frankie awake; the scent of his tea—jasmine today, if I’m not mistaken—is wafting through the apartment like every morning.

But it’s nothing like a regular morning. My bubbly fiancé, who always wakes up at the butt crack of dawn with a wide smile on his face and more energy than a toddler, sits quietly at the table. His gaze is locked on a spot on the wall and the circles around his eyes are so dark they look like he’s been punched.

“Did you even sleep?” I mumble.

My voice pulls him out of his stare. “No.” He doesn’t look at me. Instead, he gets to his feet and starts preparing my breakfast like he does every morning. On any other day before today, my yogurt and homemade granola would be served with a side of sunny smiles and honey-flavored kisses, but today, he moves slowly, as though his entire body is hurting.