Chapter 12

Emily's POV 

The wind whispered through the open window, carrying the faint scent of rain. I sat on the edge of the bed, tracing the worn floral patterns on the quilt with my fingertips. The room felt too quiet, too still, as if it were holding its breath. A guest room, Joan had called it when I arrived, though it had become something else in the days since—the walls closing in more each moment, the air thicker with memories of what I'd lost.

I hadn't moved much all morning, not even when I heard Joan bustling in the kitchen downstairs. Her presence, always steady, had been my anchor in the storm, but now it felt like an anchor dragging me down. I couldn't stay. I knew that much.

"Emily?" Joan's voice came from the doorway, soft and hesitant, breaking through my thoughts.

I didn't look up. I didn't need to. I could hear the concern in her voice, the way it cracked ever so slightly, as if she was afraid I might shatter if she spoke too loudly.