Morning arrived with the sound of cabinet doors opening.
Not gently, either.
Purposefully.
Leo woke slowly, disoriented for half a second by the unfamiliar softness under him instead of hospital chair plastic digging into his spine. Pale sunlight spilled through the curtains. Somewhere in the apartment, something clattered loudly.
Then his mother's voice floated down the hallway.
"Why is this plant dying?"
Leo closed his eyes.
Ah.
Recovery.
He dragged himself upright and stepped out into the hallway wearing sweatpants and exhaustion.
The apartment smelled like coffee and burnt toast.
Lila stood in the kitchen in her school uniform, hair half-done, staring accusingly into the toaster.
Their mother was standing near the balcony door holding a potted plant like she'd personally discovered betrayal.
"This soil is dry," she announced.
Leo stopped immediately.
"Why are you standing?"
His mother blinked. "Good morning to you too."
"Ma."
"I was checking the plants."
