14
Rue
The next day when I come down for breakfast, with absolutely no warning, there is a letter waiting for me on the kitchen island. It’s in a long, cream-colored envelope, addressed in my sister’s elegantly looped cursive. I stand and stare at it for half a minute, not sure what I want it to say.
Do I want her to reassure me that she is okay? Or do I hope that the letter will tell me that she knows now that I was right?
My expression sours. When have I ever known Amabel to ask for forgiveness?
I tuck the envelope in one of the oversized pockets in my pale pink cardigan. Devouring the letter seems like something I should do in private. I set about making coffee, wondering if Dryas will surface at some point or not. He’s been absent ever since I found him in his office two days ago,
