Emma’s POVI wake up to the scent of something familiar, something comforting. As my eyes flutter open, I see a tray on the bedside table filled with dried beans, rice, and oven-baked chicken wings—my favorite dishes. The sight takes me back to a time when things were different, when Michael and I were in the best days of our relationship. I remember the day I told him, half-jokingly, that if I were stranded on a deserted island, I could live a normal life with just dried beans and rice without feeling desolation. I look at the food now, mocking the absurdity of it all. My hypothetical predicament has become my reality, orchestrated by the man I once trusted. I feel a bitter laugh bubbling up inside me, but it dies in my throat.I’m famished, so I devour the food in a matter of minutes, eight at most. The gnawing ache in my stomach eases, replaced by the warmth of being full, but it’s a hollow satisfaction. I could eat four times this amount and still feel unsatisfied.I push the tra
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