Isla’s POV
Grief is a strange thing, people think it fades with time. They say things like healing and closure as if loss behaves like a wound that eventually seals itself shut.
They’re wrong, some grief doesn’t fade. And lately…mine had started breathing again. I sat cross-legged on the floor of my studio office in Fairview, surrounded by paper.
Actual paper. Printed articles, old newspaper clippings, sticky notes, police summaries. Coffee cups I had forgotten to throw away.
My laptop glowed in front of me while rain tapped steadily against the tall windows. Dad’s photograph rested beside it. The same one I showed Zayne in the car days ago.
I stared at it again.
“Who hurt you?” I whispered.
His smile in the photo never changed. Gentle and warm. The kind of man strangers trusted im
