The wind raging beyond the window of Cassie hammered at the glass in mournful protest. The fire had burned out of the fireplace, and a faint amber light fell over the shattered floorboards. Her mother's journal lay tight in her fists, but its pages offered her no solace. No letter written could soothe the pain within her—the pain of seeing too much, of being saddled with more than she ever should have been.
Her hand slid down onto her belly. The baby stirred softly under her hand, a shudder that was calming and hurting.
She was not alone.
The footsteps groaned in the hallway. For a second, she hoped it would be one of the twins. Lark, say, with another apology in the unspoken manner. Or Mark, stiff with his impassive pain. But when the knock came, it was softer. Almost tentative.
"Cass
