I sat alone on the patio for ten minutes until the chill in the air seeped through my clothes and made my shoulders ache.

The inside of the mansion was completely quiet when I finally stepped back into the warmth of the house.

Daniel’s dark roast espresso machine sat polished and gleaming near the stove, its chrome spout dry.

On the kitchen island nearby sat my ceramic mug from the night before, untouched where I had left it beside the sink.

I picked up the cold cup and held it directly under the bright overhead lights.

The liquid had evaporated down to a thin smear, but clinging to the cream glaze at the very bottom was a powdery ring of dark residue that smelled distinctly bitter.