Thora’s POV
The list I made the night before looked stronger in ink than it did in daylight.
By morning, the names seemed to blur, my neat notes suddenly fragile. Each line was a promise I wasn’t sure anyone could keep.
Still, I had no choice but to try.
So I started with the safest call.
“Mrs. Alvarez?” My voice trembled more than I wanted it to. “It’s Thora Greenwood.”
There was a pause, then her warm, familiar laugh. “Oh, Thora. How’s Avis? That little one has more energy than the whole playground combined.”
Relief loosened my shoulders. “She’s good. She misses you. Listen, I—this is awkward, but I need to ask for your help.”
As I explained, my throat tightened. Custody hearings, affidavits, testimony. Words I hated speaking out loud, as if admitting the war made it more real.
