SIX YEARS LATER
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The bedroom was eerily silent, the kind of silence that pressed against the walls and settled deep in the heart. Six-year-old Primily lay beside her mother, her small body curled close to Nina’s. She reached out, her tiny hand brushing against her mother’s arm, cold and unmoving.
“Mummy, wake up,” she whispered, her voice trembling. Her stomach growled, but the hunger was secondary to the fear creeping into her chest. “You’ve been sleeping for so long. I’m hungry.”
When Nina didn’t stir, Primily sat up, her wide, innocent eyes fixed on her mother’s face. She didn’t understand why her mother wouldn’t wake up. She had slept before, and she had always woken up with a smile, her warm hands reaching out to tickle Primily or pull her into a hug.
This time, there was no
