JULIAN'S POV
Pain radiates up my arm, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in my chest.
Adele’s been gone a week, yet I still hear her footsteps in the hallway, her laugh echoing down the stairs, the sound of her teacup clinking against porcelain.
My wife.
My Adele.
Gone.
The doctors called it a psychotic break.
I call it a scream.
One I didn't hear until it was too damn late.
I pace the kitchen like a madman. The smell of stale coffee clings to the air, but all I can smell is her lavender and honey and the ghost of everything I didn’t say.
She used to sit at the counter, curled into the end stool, humming songs I never bothered to learn the names of. Always adding too much sugar to her tea.
My phone buzzes.
A text.
My heart stutters.
“Found her. Call me in five”
My bre
