“No…” she whispered.
Her husband pushed himself upright too quickly and nearly lost his balance. He looked as though he had not slept in days. His shirt was wrinkled, his jaw covered in uneven stubble, and there were dark bruises beneath his eyes.
“Clara, wait—”
“You told me she was gone.”
The words came out sharper than she intended. Not loud. Worse than loud. Thin and shaking.
On the floor beside the bed, their son Daniel lifted his head slowly. His face was pale from exhaustion. A blanket had been wrapped around his shoulders, and for one terrible second Clara thought he might be sick.
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