Anna
Grief did not arrive all at once.
That would have been merciful.
Instead, it came in increments—small enough to survive, sharp enough to wound every time she thought she was done bleeding.
Mara’s absence was not loud. It did not echo. The space she left behind simply failed to fill. Rooms felt unfinished. Thresholds forgot how to close. The bookshop still stood, but its corners leaned inward as if waiting for a voice that would not return.
Anna sat on the floor of the back room with her knees drawn to her chest, fingers tracing the grain of the wood where Mara used to lean when she was thinking.
“She said live,” Anna whispered.
Lexus stood nearby, silent, vigilant—not watching the door, but watching her.
“I don’t know how,” Anna continued. “Not like this.”
Lexus crossed the r
