The smell hit her first—warm, rich, buttery, with hints of garlic, tomato, and herbs.
Lasagna alla Bolognese.
The Homemade kind.
It drifted through the air like an unwelcome hand, gently tugging her out of sleep.
For a moment, she resisted. She didn't want to wake up. She'd finally found that perfect, heavy kind of sleep, the one that comes after hours of tossing, turning, and regretting every life decision.
But the world, as usual, didn't care about her peace.
The sound of curtains being yanked open tore through the quiet, followed by sunlight, stabbing through her closed lids.
Heather groaned, dragging her arching arm over her face. "Oh my God…" Her voice came out hoarse, cracked, heavy with sleep and something bitter.
Her head pounded like a drumbeat against her skull, and her body ached in every joint. What she felt could only be compared to running a marathon after years of being bedridden.
Even her wrists pulsed, sore with every slight movement.
