Shirley
The house was too quiet. After everything that had happened, silence felt like both a relief and a burden. My fingers lingered at the edge of the mark on my neck, tracing the raised skin as if it could give me answers I wasn’t ready to ask out loud. The faint pulse under my skin had become a constant reminder—of Elias, of my father, of all the shadows tied to who I was.
But I wasn’t that girl anymore. I wouldn’t let myself be.
I shook my head, clearing the thoughts before they could spiral. My broom leaned against the wall, abandoned midway through my attempt to keep the house orderly. I had been scrubbing, sweeping, doing anything to ground myself, but the truth was, no matter how clean the floors looked, the chaos inside me wouldn’t disappear with soap and water.
When I opene
