28

28

Claire’s window was painted shut. That wasn’t something new and nefarious that her parents had done since she’d last used the room. It had happened accidentally five years ago, when her father had repainted the room for her when she was deep in depression. It had been Martina’s idea to brighten the room and change her perspective.

It hadn’t completely helped pull her out of depression, but she’d appreciated the gesture, and the warm yellow color had been cheerful then. It was still cheerful now, and it brought a surge of nostalgia for the parents she’d had. That was followed by a crushing wave of grief, since they clearly weren’t the same people, and she didn’t know if they could be reclaimed.

She let out a sniffle as she sat on the bed, feeling sorry for herself. For a moment, she wanted to wallow in despair. It was eerily parallel to how she’d felt for the first few weeks after being released from the hospital, when she’d had no reason to go on and had been completely without hop