Elaine
Kave never came home that night.
I lay awake far longer than I wanted to, my body restless, my mind refusing to quiet. Every time I drifted close to sleep, I reached across the bed, hoping to feel the warmth of him beside me. Instead, my fingers brushed against nothing but cool sheets and the smooth, untouched pillow where his head should have been. Each time I found the space empty, a hollow ache spread through me, and I turned over, staring into the dark.
By the time dawn crept through the curtains, I felt as though I hadn’t slept at all. My eyes were gritty, my body heavy, and yet beneath the exhaustion was something sharper—an unease that clung to me like a shadow. It was the kind of dread that made my stomach twist, as though something was about to go terribly wrong.
I trie
