Chapter 102

Latisha put her phone away, still not replying.

After a grueling day of washing dishes, she was exhausted. She went to her room and collapsed onto the bed. Staring at her raw, peeling fingers, she thought of Nikita's messages, her mind drifting into a haze.

A soft knock came at the door. It was Mrs. Dashiell, asking if she wanted something to eat.

Latisha sat up, surprised to see Mrs. Dashiell's stooped frame in the doorway, her face etched with concern.

She got out of bed and approached her, signing, *Why are you still awake so late?*

"I was waiting for you two to get back,” Mrs. Dashiell said.

*You shouldn't wait up for us,* Latisha signed. *You need to rest early.*

Mrs. Dashiell shook her head with a smile. “It's alright. I'm old, I don't sleep much anyway. You haven't eaten, have you? I'll go make you something."

Latisha's lips pressed together as she gazed at Mrs. Dashiell's kind face, a wave of warmth spreading through her chest. It was such a beautiful feeling to be cared for, to know someone was thinking of her. It was a sense of security, like a ship finding a safe harbor. This, she thought, must be what it feels like to have a home.

For a moment, she'd gotten to experience it.

Leaning on her cane, Mrs. Dashiell went to the kitchen and returned with a bowl of soup and a plate of pastries. She'd made them during the day to pass the time, and they were delicious.

Latisha sat at the table, cradling the bowl and drinking the soup in big gulps, devouring the pastries as if she were starving.

"Slow down, dear, there's more," Mrs. Dashiell said, her heart aching for the girl. “What on earth were you doing all day to get this hungry?”

Latisha froze. She thought of her day at work, of the images of Clifford and Yesenia on TV. A sudden, sharp sorrow pricked at her nose. She swallowed the pastry in her mouth and finished the rest of the soup.

Mrs. Dashiell immediately refilled her bowl. Latisha took it with a small smile, and Mrs. Dashiell couldn't help but smile back.

As Clifford came downstairs, he witnessed this heartwarming scene. It was different from the smiles she gaverning. With Mrs. Dashiell

vel.

Latisha's smile was genuine, radiating from deep within, as if her eyes were shining.

He watched them for a moment before turning and heading back upstairs.

After eating, Latisha dragged her weary body back to her bedroom. When she pushed open the door, she heard the sound of running water from the bathroom. She paused, her eyes fixed or the tall

blurry silhouette behind the frosted

gláss.

Soon, the water stopped. Clifford emerged, a towel wrapped around his waist, another one ruffling his damp hair.

"Have you showered?" he asked suddenly.

Latisha shook her head. Her gaze lingered for a second on the defined muscles of his chest before she lowered her eyes and headed for the bathroom.

She had just stepped inside when a hand grabbed her arm. Startled, she turned to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark and intense, and a drop of water from his hair fell onto her sleeve.

"You forgot your clothes," Clifford said.

Latisha pressed her lips together and turned to get them, but he didn't let go. She tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened. The next moment, he pushed her into the bathroom.

Before she could process what was happening, her back was against the wall, and the lock clicked shut.

Latisha looked up at him,

bewildered. His eyes were deep, a storm brewing in their depths. It was a look she knew all too well. Her gaze tickered, and she began to struggle instinctively. He pinged her hands above her head, leaning in close.

"I'll help you wash," he whispered.