Mark and the kids had gone to bed hours ago, their soft, even breathing a gentle reminder of the peace we’d fought so hard to carve out. But here, in the heavy silence of the night, that peace felt temporary. Like a thin sheet draped over something untamed, something waiting.
I stood in front of the grand fireplace in Alexander’s bedroom—his bedroom—watching the flames flicker. I wasn’t even sure how I ended up here, having just followed him up the stairs.
My arms wrapped around myself, not for warmth, but for something to hold onto. The weight of the past still clung to me, pressing into my ribs, my lungs.
I could see her blood, my mother’s still spraying deep behind the walls of my mind.
She was dead. I never… we never got to fix things. Were we supposed to? I mean, I never thought
