I wanted to lean into his hand, but I stepped back, breaking the contact.

“You should leave,” I said.

Andrew looked at me for a long moment, a quiet sadness in his eyes.

“There is food in the kitchen,” he said. “I had some delivered before you got back.”

“I don’t need your charity,” I said.

“It’s not charity,” he said quietly. “Take care of yourself.”

He walked to the door, unlocked it, and slipped out into the hallway.

The door clicked shut, and the apartment felt instantly colder.

I stood in the silence for a few minutes, listening to the distant rumble of traffic below.

My stomach growled, reminding me of the life growing inside me.

I walked to the kitchen and saw a brown paper bag from the deli down the street on the counter.

Inside was a container of chicken soup and a warm roll.

I ate quickly at the small wooden table, my mind racing through everything Andrew had said.

Once I finished, I wiped my hands and went to my bedroom.

I pulled my laptop from my backpack and set it on the desk.