By the third day after Chloe’s quiet war began, the house felt different. Not hostile, worse. Careful. Every step echoed too loudly. Every door closed too softly. The staff spoke in lowered voices, their eyes darting away whenever Damian or I passed. No one asked questions, but everyone knew something had shifted, like a fault line finally giving way beneath a city that had pretended it was stable. I woke up alone that morning. Damian had left before dawn, a note on the bedside table written in his precise, controlled handwriting. Meetings all day. Don’t disappear. It wasn’t a command. It was a plea disguised as one. I pressed the paper to my chest and stared at the ceiling, my body heavy, my thoughts heavier. Ever since the hospital, sleep had become a shallow thing. I drifted instead of
