Sunday Morning

Cold porcelain pressed against Nicole’s soles as she stood before the bathroom mirror. She splashed ice-cold water over her face, the droplets clinging to her skin like sweat. Her reflection looked haggard, the brunette strands of her hair clinging to her cheeks. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Mr. Jefferson’s bald head and those digital photos—the evidence of a sin she comitted.

The scent of burnt toast and cheap roast coffee drifted into the hallway. Nicole stepped into the kitchen, where the air felt thick, almost suffocating. John stood by the stove, humming a mindless tune. Daniel sat at the small wooden table, his presence a jagged edge in the room.

"Morning, beautiful," John beamed, sliding a plate of eggs across the laminate counter.

Nicole gripped her mug, the ceramic heat searing her palms. "Morning."

Daniel leaned back in his chair, a thin, predatory smile playing on his lips. "Sleep well, Nicole?"

"Fine," she snapped, her voice sounding brittle to her own ears.

"You seem wound up," Daniel noted, his eyes dancing with a cruel light. "Nerves about the big ask on Monday?"

John chuckled, oblivious, as he poured more coffee. "I'm sure he'll be happy to help. A guy like Jefferson respects hustle. If anyone can get you a foot in the door, it's him."

Nicole stared into the black swirl of her coffee, the liquid reflecting her own distorted face. She could feel Daniel's gaze boring into her, a silent reminder of the price tag on her reputation.

"I'm sure he'll be very... accommodating," Daniel whispered, the word lingering like a threat.

"Stop it," Nicole murmured.

"Stop what?" Daniel asked, his voice dripping with fake innocence.

"I'm just saying," John added, leaning in to kiss Nicole's cheek, "it's great we're all on the same page. Family first, right?"

Nicole didn't answer. She only felt the tightening noose of Monday morning.