Zoe's POV
The water from the kitchen tap whooshed down with gravity, splashing against the stainless-steel sink as Margaret washed her hands. It rushed and echoed through the quiet kitchen, steady and unbothered, like the world hadn't tilted off its axis at all. The sound grounded me—ordinary, domestic, safe in a way my thoughts hadn't been all day. She shook the excess water from her fingers and reached into the dishwasher, pulling out a warm ceramic plate, steam still clinging faintly to its surface.
I stepped forward instinctively, closing the distance between us before she could slide it onto the rack.
"Let me," I said quickly, the words tumbling out before I could second-guess them. My fingers brushed hers as I reached for the plate.
She paused, startled, glancing up at me with mild surprise. "Oh… Chloe, don't worry about it. It's just a few plates."
"It's fine," I insisted, gently easing the plate from her grasp. "I want to."
