It seeped in like cold water under a door—silent, relentless, turning everything it touched to ice.
Lena sank into Mark’s leather chair, one hand instinctively cradling the swell of her belly. The baby kicked—a soft thump against her ribs, a reminder of life persisting even in the wreckage. In her other hand, she clutched Mr. Nibbles, the rabbit’s fur matted from too many tears and too many nights spent hiding under blankets.
Tears fell then—not loud sobs, but silent, hot drops that landed on the keyboard. She let them come. For Ellie. For the trust she’d given so freely. For the future she’d painted in yellow walls and matching cribs.
But then—something shifted.
Deep in her chest, beneath the grief and the shock, a spark ignited. Small at first, then brighter. Hotter.
