Danielle woke up groggy, her head thick with sleep and her limbs heavy, like she’d barely moved all night. But she had slept. That had to count for something. She felt a little off, like her body was protesting yesterday’s burst of energy.
She sat up slowly, wincing at the dull throbbing pain that was taking root at the base of her skull. The bedroom was dim, morning light bleeding in through the blinds. Greg’s posters lined the walls—soccer teams, rock bands she didn’t recognize, a framed photo of a championship team from two years ago. Trophies lined the shelves, all polished and neatly arranged.
She’d been here over a week now, and it still felt like she was trespassing. But this morning, for the first time, a thought drifted in, quiet and uncertain. Maybe she could ask Mr. and Mrs. R
