Ava stared at the bowl for a long moment after the spoon slipped from her fingers.
The porridge had gone cold. The faint steam that had once risen from it was gone now, leaving behind a dull, unappetizing surface. She had managed to eat barely half of it, and even that felt like too much. Her stomach twisted painfully, not with hunger, but with the effort of forcing herself to swallow when everything inside her resisted.
Her hand moved slowly and deliberately, as she pushed the bowl away.
The sound it made against the table was soft, barely noticeable, but it cut through the quiet like a blade.
Damian noticed immediately.
He didn't comment on the unfinished food. He didn't tell her to eat more. He didn't even look at the bowl. Instead, he rose from his seat with a controlled movement, his chair sliding back with a low scrape against the floor.
He hadn't taken a single bite from his own breakfast.
