Sofia did the mistake of finding Max's study the next night. Or it was perhaps the most right thing ever that she had found it.

After finishing cooking lunch, she was wandering lazily about the ground floor of the house that afternoon. Max was not home. Debbie was resting in the staff's quarters beside the pantry and the backdoor.

And Sofia was getting bored, all alone. She was tired sitting around, watching TV and hounding after her employees in the diner over the phone.

Soon, she decided, she was going to have to start going back to work.

Instead of going upstairs, she roamed around the ground floor, began checking one room after another. She had finally gone out on a proper tour of the place.

Resting most of her weight on her crutch, she pushed the last wooden door open. It was the last of many rooms lined up against the left wall beside the open hall like space where at one side was the dining area and the lounge was on the other side.

As she walked into the room she realized immediately it was Max's study. It was obvious by that intimidating looking wooden desk befitting for an attorney.

She walked up to the desk and put her fingers softly on the glass covering the top and felt the sleekness under her touch. As she was limping past the desk towards the closed window her elbow connected to the neat pile of files. In a flurry of a moment they fell, swishing and with numerous thuds, down to the floor.

Sofia made a face.

She didn't want to leave a mess behind in the study. Debbie might get a scolding because of her.

Bending down over and over again with the crutch stuck to her elbow was incredibly difficult. But she did that anyway and only stopped when all the files were back in their place.

She looked at the neat file of files on the desk and let out a satisfied sigh.

Walking around then, she collapsed into Max's large leather chair behind the desk.

When she got back her breath, her panting dying down to a slow rhythm of inhales and exhales, she finally began feeling the texture of the chair around her, underneath her. It was soft and yet firm, perfect to seat upon it for long periods.

Her palms slid down and again up the slightly firmer hand rests.

She imagined the long and strong lengths of Max's arms on them, she could almost feel his elbows resting there, his hand busy fiddling with a pen, another flipping through files, scowling at the contents like a madman. And Sofia couldn't help but throw back her head in the headrest behind and chuckle freely. That was when her eyes fell directly across the room.

The grin died down on her face.

There, at the end of the room was a mini, home bar cabinet.

It looked immensely elegant with the dark color of the wood used in making the counter before the cabinets. The shelves attached on top of the cabinets and beyond the counter were matching.

Her face darkened at the sight of different sorts and brands of liquor lining up on the shelves. She was familiar with most of them.

There was a separate place on the shelf for the glasses and barwares.

As if grasped by a hypnotizing power of some kind, she came to her feet from the leather chair and moved to the bar slowly. Her crutch slipped twice as she walked ahead half unaware of her present state. She stopped right beside the pair of matching chairs at the counter.

By the sight of it, this might be Max's place to find peace, just like her father. But to her, this was a part of her nightmare.

Her nose burned and crinkled at the slight smell of whiskey in the air.

She came to the idea that Max could turn into a hopeless drunkard from time to time. Under heavy stress, after all, all of them did—all those high and mighty men. She had seen her father become one.

The lesson was burned as a tattoo in her memory.

Only grampa was the exception. A voice in her insisted—maybe Max was too.

But there was the blatant proof before her very eyes.

The question however was that, was Max as insane as her father would get while drunk?

Letting out a long sigh, she forcefully turned herself around and went over to the window. She pushed it open and inhaled the fresh air outside, calming her mind and her racing heart. From this window, the next house to Max's could be seen. And the next house was as beautiful as this one, the only difference was the home-like feeling of that house, while the one she was standing in felt kind of lifeless.

Nothing Max did was her business.

She was not even his real wife to be a judge of his character.

But still, she felt suffocated. Suddenly more in the walls of this house, with Max's mini home bar glaring from her peripheral vision. And before the walls could close in and bury her inside them alive, with her childhood and memories and fears, she knew she needed to get out. She needed to get out at least for hours until she could come back to fight in her own self again.

She decided she was going to start going back to work.

Her diner was going to be her savior.

Resting in the home for three weeks be damned.