Morning returned to Fox Hollow with its usual chaos. Tenants rushed through the tight hallways, empty buckets in hand, all heading to the communal bathroom. The atmosphere was charged with urgency.
Sophie woke slowly, fatigue pulling at her limbs. She glanced at John, still sound asleep. With a groan, she pushed herself up and squinted at the old clock.
"Oh no… I can't believe I slept this long," she muttered, her mood shifting as she jumped out of bed.
In the sitting room, she spotted her grandmother, bent over a bowl, mixing flour and other ingredients with careful precision. Sophie lingered at the doorway, mesmerized by her grandmother's focused movements—deliberate and almost graceful.
She stepped closer and sank into the cushion beside her.
"Good morning, Grandmother," she said softly. Her grandmother looked up, beaming.
"How did you sleep, Sophie?"
"As usual," Sophie replied.
"And John?"
"Still sleeping."
"Sleepyhead," her grandmother teased.
Sophie watched her bake and smiled. "You never get old, Grandmother."
The old woman chuckled. "I've baked for six governors. My skills are top-notch."
Sophie's smile grew. Then she noticed something—her grandmother hadn't coughed in a while. "Why does your coughing stop when you bake?" she asked.
Her grandmother laughed softly. "Because baking is part of my soul. It knows how to coexist with me."
"I'm glad I took after you," Sophie said. "Mom never liked baking."
Her grandmother's smile faded.
Sophie felt the mood change. "I should go prepare the oven," she said, standing up.
Sophie hurried down the hallway, weaving through the morning crowd. She reached a door with a worn-out number 4 on it and knocked. After a moment, the door creaked open. Owen stood there, bare-chested and in just his briefs.
"Good morning," Sophie said.
"Morning. Come in," Owen replied, stepping aside.
"No thanks. I'm here for your mother," she said, forcing a smile.
Owen started to close the door.
"Wait," Sophie called out. He paused, and she stepped inside. The sitting room was simple yet cozy, with faded cushions and a working TV.
"Where's your mother?" she asked.
Owen didn't respond. Instead, he fixated on her, his gaze intense.
"I'm leaving," Sophie announced, standing up. But Owen seized her wrist, holding her firmly.
"I can get you an oven," he said, his voice low and smoldering.
"Let me go, Owen," she snapped, trying to pull free.
"Why do you make things difficult?" he said, pushing her back onto the seat.
Just then, the door swung open, and Linda walked in, carrying a bucket.
"Good morning, ma," Sophie said quickly, standing up.
Linda looked between them. "How long have you been here?"
"Quite a while," Sophie replied, keeping her tone steady.
"Sorry for the wait. The bathroom line is awful," Linda said. Then her tone shifted. "Good thing you're here. My rate's gone up."
"Up?" Sophie reacted with concern. "I can barely afford the current one."
"That oven is mine. I'll do what I want. Starting next week, it's forty-five dollars a week," Linda said coldly.
"Forty-five?" Sophie gasped.
"You heard me. And I won't pay for repairs. You'll fix everything. I want it in perfect shape."
Owen smirked, and Sophie ignored him.
"That's not fair," she argued.
"What's unfair is your grandmother selling everything to save someone who's already doomed," Linda shot back.
Sophie couldn't take it anymore. "Here. This week's payment," she said, handing over some cash.
Linda grabbed it immediately. Sophie stormed out.
Back at her apartment, her grandmother had just finished mixing ingredients. John sat next to her, stifling a yawn.
"What took you so long?" her grandmother asked, noticing Sophie's downcast expression.
Suddenly, Sophie coughed hard, the sound harsh and unsettling. "I went to settle up with Linda," she replied, trying to sound upbeat.
Her grandmother looked at her, focused.
"She raised the price to forty-five dollars" Sophie added, frustration creeping in.
"What a scam," her grandmother muttered, coughing again. She almost lost her balance, and Sophie quickly reached out to support her.
"I sold that oven to her for a hundred and fifty dollars" her grandmother said, tears welling up in her eyes. "I needed the money to help your mother. God bless her soul. Linda has no heart."
"Please don't cry, Grandmother," Sophie whispered, pulling her in close. "If you cry, I won't bake this dough. I'll just let it go to waste."
John stood by, watching quietly, concern etched on his face. Later, Sophie took the bowl of dough outside, with John following closely behind, holding a smaller bowl.