Rosette’s point of view ~~~
The door creaked open and I shoved past James and into the room. My feet halted mid-step.
No.
No.
No.
My knees buckled, but I caught myself on the edge of the doorframe, my fingers digging into the door like it could keep the world from collapsing. But it already had.
He laid there. My father. His body was still, cold and covered with a sheet.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, a soundless gasp, like the air had been punched out of my lungs and wouldn’t come back.
My heart pounded so loudly in my ears that I could barely hear James whisper, “He didn’t suffer.”
Liar.
I staggered toward the bed—the one I’d changed the covers of just last week. The one I’d sat beside while feeding him soup. The one I’d fluffed pillows for and threatened t
