Grief didn’t come in waves for Adele Hawthorne.
It came like a flood. Drowning. Merciless. Final.
She stood motionless in the hospital parking lot, the world spinning too fast and yet not moving at all. Her hands trembled at her sides, clenched into useless fists.
Julian reached for her, but she recoiled.
“Don’t” she whispered. The word was barely audible. But it stopped him cold.
Inside her, something had shattered. And something else had taken its place. Something sharp.
Her mother was gone. Not by illness. Not by accident.
By murder.
And the woman who did it–Shirley-had vanished like smoke. No records. No full name. No trace.
Just antiseptic and citrus lingering in the air like a haunting.
Julian tried again, stepping closer. “We’ll find her, Adele. I swear on everything.”
B
