Lightning flared beyond the window, briefly illuminating the room in stark relief before plunging it back into shadow. Rory closed her eyes against the afterimage, exhaling through the tightness in her chest. The storm had its own rhythm, filling the spaces between her thoughts, between the truths she wasn’t sure she was ready to face. The house felt both too empty and too full, as if the past had settled into its corners, waiting for her to acknowledge it.
She turned onto her side, her hand still resting against her stomach. The weight of the night pressed down, thick and insistent. Outside, the poolhouse was still lit, and she knew Jim was in there, lost in whatever pull had drawn him from the house. She could picture him easily—leaning over the canvas, shoulders hunched, the same tensi
