The Next Morning
The faint smell of bacon and fresh bread drifted into the room long before the door creaked open.
I blinked awake in the uncomfortable chair, my spine stiff and my hand still loosely wrapped around Jack’s. He was asleep again, breathing more steadily now, the color returned to his face a little. Dad was slumped on the other side of the bed, arms crossed, snoring softly like a bear.
I sat up straighter, wincing at the crack of my back, just as the door eased open and a familiar figure peeked through.
Ava.
Her dark hair was pulled into a messy braid, a cozy sweater draped over her slight frame, and in her arms she carried a large tray stacked with breakfast—plates covered in foil, a thermos, and a small bouquet of wildflowers tucked into a mason jar.
She smiled when sh
