Brielle’s POV
The morning felt like a stretched version of last night—slightly more light but just as heavy. I hadn’t slept well again. Not because of nightmares this time, but because I kept waiting for something to click. As if the answer to who Fiona was, or why she left me, would just arrive like a parcel on the doorstep. Neatly wrapped. Ready to be understood.
But nothing arrived. Just silence.
Gregory had already gone to work when I came downstairs. A note was on the table.
“Left early. Coffee’s in the pot. Maybe try the church next?”
I stared at the words longer than necessary. It felt strange how normal his handwriting looked, like it belonged to a father who never had to lie or carry guilt.
I poured the coffee. It was too bitter, but I didn’t fix it. I just drank and stared
