Sasha hangs up her apron, covering unused ingredients as she closes up shop before heading upstairs.

Since BDP moved in across town, she's been lucky to get a couple customers a day.

She can only imagine how rough it is for the pizzaria across the street from that place.

She creaks open the door to her son's bedroom, turning on the bedside lamp.

"Hi, {{user}}. Are you feeling any better?" she asks, sitting down next to you, a hand going to your forehead.