Chapter 1
"Anna, it's already 6:05. Why are you still not up?" Margaret Goodwin's voice was quiet, but sharp as a needle, jabbing straight through the sleep Anna had barely fallen into.
Anna Lane's eyes snapped open, but all she saw was a blur of darkness.
A faint gray light slipped through the crack in the curtains. It was still dark outside.
She fumbled for her phone and turned on the screen. The blinding white light made her squint.
She remembered 3:17 AM was when she'd finally gotten into bed. Which meant she'd slept less than three hours.
*****
Anna's head felt heavy and about to burst, and her temples throbbed with every heartbeat.
"Margaret..." Anna's throat was dry and tight, her voice rough. "I... I didn't get to bed until after three last night because of overtime."
"What's a little overtime to you young folks?" Margaret stood in the doorway, not bothering to come in, her tone casual.
"When I was your age, I was an accountant out in the sticks. I'd get up before sunrise to balance the books, walk miles to town, and work late into the night. Still made it through just fine."
She paused, her voice emotionless, but her tone left no room for negotiation.
"You have to eat your breakfast. It's good for you. Michael needs to head out by 7:30, so get moving."
With that, her footsteps drifted off toward the kitchen.
Anna lay in bed, staring at the blurry shadows on the ceiling, feeling like every bone in her body was protesting.
There was a constant buzzing in her ears.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and released it slowly.
Then she pulled back the covers and sat up.
The cold air seeped right through her thin pajamas, raising goosebumps all over her skin.
As soon as her feet hit the floor, the chill shot up through her legs.
She held onto the wall, shuffling slowly toward the bathroom.
In the mirror, her face was pale as a sheet, with dark circles under her eyes, bloodshot and tired, and her hair was a tangled mess.
She looked like the walking dead.
She turned on the faucet and gave her face a few rough splashes of cold water.
The icy chill helped clear her head a bit.
From the kitchen came the soft clatter of pots and pans, along with Margaret humming a nostalgic old song.
Anna walked to the kitchen doorway.
Margaret stood with her back to her, busy at the stove.
On the burner, a small pot of plain oatmeal was bubbling quietly, sending up tiny bursts of steam.
The kitchen window was cracked open, and the chilly morning breeze crept in, brushing against the perfectly neat gray hair at her temples.
She was wearing an old cardigan sweater she had brought from home, standing ramrod straight.
"Let me do it," Anna said, stepping forward and reaching for the spatula Margaret was holding.
Margaret sidestepped just enough to avoid her hand.
"No need. The oatmeal is almost done. Just put the scones in to warm," she said.
Her eyes swept over Anna, and her brow furrowed just a little.
"Why are you dressed so lightly? Go put something warmer on, or you will catch a cold and make Michael worry about you again," Margaret said.
Anna glanced down at her rumpled pajamas, didn't say a word, and turned to head back to her bedroom.
She grabbed a thick coat from the closet and threw it on.
When she got back to the kitchen, Margaret had already served up three bowls of oatmeal, arranged neatly on the table.
"The scones are on the second shelf of the fridge. Warm up ten," Margaret said as she wiped down the stove.
"Michael needs two for breakfast, I will have one, and you... One is enough for you, isn't it? You should not eat too much in the morning. It is not good for you, and you will put on weight."
Anna opened the fridge, and a blast of cold air hit her face.
She pulled out the cold scones, counted out ten, and set them on the baking sheet.
Her fingers tingled from the chill of the refrigerated dough.
"Honestly... you don't have to go through all this trouble for breakfast," Anna said, her voice still a little hoarse.
"There's a breakfast place downstairs at Michael's office, and my company has a cafeteria. You could sleep in a bit. No need to get up early just to cook."
Margaret paused, her hand still on the stove.
She turned to look at Anna, her face blank, but there was something in her eyes that made Anna feel uneasy.
It was like she was sizing Anna up, looking for something to criticize.
"Anna, that's not how it works," Margaret said.
She tossed the rag onto the counter and wiped her hands on her apron.
"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. How can you just grab whatever is easiest?
"Michael works himself to the bone. If he does not get a proper homemade breakfast, how is he supposed to get through the day?
"Food from outside is overpriced, and who knows what is in it. When you cook at home, at least you know exactly what you are eating."
She paused, her gaze landing on Anna's face.
"I know you young people are all about freedom and convenience these days. But when you start a family, you have to make it feel like home.
"It is a woman's job to look after her husband and keep the house running. That is just how it is.
"I am here to help, am I not? You are busy with work, so it is perfectly normal for me to handle more of the chores."
Anna parted her lips, about to speak.
But Margaret cut her off before she could say anything.
"Alright, the oven is preheated. Watch the scones and do not let them burn," Margaret said, turning toward the living room. "I am going to wake Michael."
Anna watched Margaret's back as she walked away, her throat feeling thick and tight, like she could not swallow.
She felt choked up.
She stood quietly by the stove, watching the scones begin to turn golden through the oven window.
The low hum of the oven filled the stillness of the early morning.
A thin layer of condensation had formed on the window, turning the outlines of the buildings outside into vague, blurry shapes.
She was only twenty-eight.
She'd been married for two years.
She and her husband, Michael, had met in college. They dated for four years and got married with nothing but love. A small ceremony, no big reception, just a handful of friends in a borrowed garden.
No car, no house, just a pair of gold bands they had saved months for.
After the wedding, they rented a modest two-bedroom apartment in Riverside City, a little out of the way, and the building was old, but it was near the bus line, so the commute was manageable.