SIGRUN
"Tell me about your father."
I felt him tense behind me in the bath. He was quiet even as his fingers mindlessly drew lazy circles on my shoulder.
The warm water sloshed gently around us, the steam rising toward the high stone ceiling of the private bathchamber, but the comfortable, hazy warmth of the room evaporated in an instant. The lazy circles against my skin stopped entirely. His hand remained resting on my collarbone, but it had grown heavy, the muscles in his broad forearm locking up until they felt like solid granite against my back.
I bit my lip, instantly wishing I could reach out into the foggy air and yank the words right back into my mouth.
Stupid, Sigrun. Really stupid.
We had been having such a good evening. After the heavy, heartbreaking weight of the burial
