CHAPTER 45

I woke up the next morning to the dull, grey light bleeding through the curtains. It wasn’t bright enough to be called morning, not really, but time moved forward whether I was ready or not. I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, my body aching in a way that had nothing to do with physical strain.

Dragging myself out of bed felt like moving through molasses. Every muscle resisted, weighed down by the turmoil that had raged inside my mind all night. My thoughts had spun in endless, punishing circles, refusing to let me find rest. My heart felt bruised, raw from too many emotions pulling it in too many directions.

I rubbed my face with both hands, sighing into the silence of the room. The bed behind me looked untouched, sheets rumpled only from my tossing and turning. I hadn’t truly slept—I had merely existed in a limbo of grief and anger and confusion.