A week has passed, filled with rare bursts of chaos and silent, oppressive silence, with which it is impossible to be alone. Nate either left me alone with Misse, or came to fray his and my nerves. The house almost shook from our roar.

Now everything was different.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the personal scent of freshly baked little buns. The table was bursting, as always - slices of cheese, pate, vegetable salad, meatloaf ... I stubbornly ignored the pumpkin soup. Ney loves him.

Lunch did not please even with its dessert - custard cakes. Only black coffee with spices reflected my mood. He invigorated and...