She stares at him, waits to feel angry, misunderstood. But she feels none of those. Because, the fact is, well, he’s right
She heads down the stairs and joins Daniel in the kitchen. His hat is still on; he must’ve just come home.
“Hey,” she says, smiling at him as she whisks his plate into the microwave and pours him a glass of Coke.
“Hey yourself,” he says, settling into a chair.
“What?” she asks self-consciously. She places two bamboo mats on the glass-topped dinette.
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