Hazel's POVI woke up before my alarm and lay still for a while, listening to the sounds of the house settling around me.There was a time when those sounds were familiar in a comforting way, the particular creak of the third stair, the distant sound of the neighborhood waking up outside the window. I had grown up in this house, or at least I had grown up in a version of it. I wasn't entirely sure anymore what that meant.I got dressed without turning on the overhead light.Downstairs, my father was already at the kitchen table with his coffee and his newspaper, which was how he spent every morning, unhurried, projecting the particular calm of a man with nothing to hide. I had found that calming once. Now it just looked like practice.“Morning,” I said, going to the counter to pour myself coffee.“You slept well?,” he said, without looking up from the paper. “A little.”“Good. You needed it.” He turned a page. “Sit down. I made eggs.”I ate my breakfast without tasting them while
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