EVELYN
Dehydration gnawed at my throat, leaving it dry and parched as if I'd been wandering in a desert for days. My body ached for a chilled glass of water, something to soothe the discomfort clawing at me.
Dragging myself out of my room, I padded downstairs, the dim glow of the hallway lights guiding me through the quiet house. The familiar creaks of the wooden staircase beneath my feet seemed louder today. But as I reached the last step, a sharp and angry voice cut through my ear like a blade.
Dad's voice. And he was shouting.
I froze, gripping the railing as unease crept up my spine. Dad never shouted. He was the definition of a perfect gentleman— composed, rational, and always taking things gently. For him to be raising his voice like this, something bad must have happened. Something really bad.
My fingers tightened around the railing, my breath shallow, and the cool wood pressing against my palm. The water I had so desperately craved moments ago was forgotten, replaced by a cur
