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I shouldn’t be having this conversation. What is it good for? Last night was a mistake, and forming any attachment to him would be a disaster. I should just leave it. “Did they have a falling out?”

And, apparently, my mouth doesn’t follow my mind.

“I don’t know what happened. I hear him on the phone with her from time to time, but usually just making excuses. Do you want me to make you breakfast?”

“No, that’s okay. I think I’m going to go out.”

“Mr. Quinn said to make sure you eat well.” She raises her eyebrow, pursing her lips with kind reproach. I imagine that’s what it would be like to have a caring mother or grandmother.

“He did, did he?” I shake my head, smiling.

“Yes, he texted me last night and said you need to eat breakfast.”

My hand stops on the way to my mouth, the coffee wafting to my nostrils. “He texted you last night about my breakfast?”

“But of course. He reminds me all the time when he can’t be here. You’re not a model anymore, my dear; you should indulge a bit.” She winks and raises her finger to stop me. She opens the cabinet and puts a large plastic bottle in front of me. “And you should take these.”

I glance at the iron supplement, and my heart echoes in my temples. “I’ve got to go, Livia, but I promise to grab some breakfast outside.”

“Well, take these.” She shakes two pills into her hand.

I take the supplement and leave her in the kitchen. Overwhelmed. Confused. Touched.

I grab a sweatshirt and head outside, my soul soaring and hurting at the same time. He doesn’t trust me, but he makes sure I eat, and buys me supplements. Two weeks ago, I’d have concluded this was his ultimate power trip at controlling me.

But having spent some time with him, I wonder if it’s more a genuine care than anything else. God, the man is confusing.

Fresh air lifts my spirits as I walk aimlessly for almost an hour. People rush around, jogging, dropping kids at daycare, on their way to work. Everyone moves with purpose while I just roam the streets.

But I don’t feel as lost as I did last week. Just moving, engaging in people-watching gives me some sense of routine. Maybe that’s what I need. To get out of the house, to lay order over the chaos.

Without making a conscious decision, I find myself in front of the shelter. Through the front window, I glimpse Ethel behind the counter, typing away.

I push the door open. “Good morning.”

“Saar.” She takes off her glasses, standing up. “What brings you here? And this early.”

“I don’t know. Can I visit Coco?” I shrug, feeling stupid all of a sudden. I should have called ahead and made an appointment. I don’t want to slow these busy people down.

“But of course. Go right in; you know where to find her.” She sits and returns to her paperwork.

And just like that, I have something to do.

Half an hour later, Coco wakes up in my arms and stretches her paws, letting out a loud mew.

“She’s hungry.” Ethel enters the room.

I put the little one into her box. “Thank you for letting me sit with her.” My eyes land on a small, white fluffy dog eyeing me from his cage.

“Anytime. She’s yours already.”

I wish. I crouch by the white dog. “What’s your name, cutie?” He scoots farther into his corner.

“He was abused and doesn’t yet trust anyone.” Ethel sighs. “His name is Rolfie.”

“Someone names their dog Rolfie and then they hurt him?” My heart constricts as I swallow around the lump in my throat.

“Human cruelty has no boundaries.”