The scrapes on her knees and palms stung against the fabric and the graze on her chin wept transparent liquid. Reluctant to leave the bedroom, Hana tidied, packing her belongings into her suitcase. The overflowing laundry basket cried out for attention and she forced herself from the room around six in the morning, carrying it to the washroom on the ground floor. Finding powder, she set two loads going and then watched the water slosh through the clothing, mingling hers and Logan’s in a peculiar dance of sleeves and legs.
The silence of the hotel shrouded her, robbing her of oxygen as she balled up her sooty clothes and trainers and dropped them into the trash bin. More than anything she longed to take the truck and drive back to Culver’s Cottage, sealing herself in until she worked out h
