Chapter Thirty-eight

The living room held beautiful frames on the thick wall, some of which had Graeme Clough's pictures, designs of clocks while others held a glimpse of nature.

Mild light from the sun shot through the windows framed with blinds, scattering its rays over the end tables holding a flower vase.

Ellie perched on the edge of the couch with a colorful pillow as she brushed her feet against the area rug and swept her eyes up and down the room.

“We thought you died,” —Diane, killed a year halfway in her cheek. “Well, the doctor said so. Days, weeks, and months went by, yet I'd to live with that pain that I couldn't save you.”

Karl gazed at Ellie who was beside him yet paid little or no attention to the words said by Diane.

“Why would you hold in to that pain?” —Karl turned to Diane. “You did all you could, besides, I haven't thanked you enough.”

“You wouldn't understand,” Diane said, a teary smile creased her lips. “I once had a son who unfortunately died in a fire incident.”

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