The light in Tara’s room was soft. Too soft.
It spilled across the floor in quiet streaks, brushing against her small hand, still and pale in the morning glow, a cup containing God knows what lying on the floor.
For a second, I thought she was asleep. My mind wanted to believe it. Needed to. But the stillness in the air told me otherwise. There was no rise and fall of her chest. No sound of her faint breathing that used to hum like music against the quiet walls. Just silence.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even breathe.
My hands shook as I took one step closer, then stopped. I didn’t need to see more. I didn’t need to confirm what my heart already knew.
My stomach twisted violently. The walls seemed to close in, pressing against me until I turned away, stumbling back into the hall. My pu
