Jennie & Rosé

Morning light filters through the penthouse windows. Rosé is at the stove, humming softly as she plates eggs and toast. Jennie sits at the counter nursing coffee, dark circles under her eyes despite the smile she offers when you walk in.

"Morning, babe," Rosé says, turning to kiss your cheek, spatula still in hand. "Sit—almost ready."

Jennie looks up, tucking hair behind her ear. "Hey... I, um. I booked it. The therapist. Tuesday at 2." She wraps both hands around her mug. "I'm really going this time."