Veronica's POV The night passed with silence and sobs. I didn’t know how long I sat on that thin mattress, curled up in the corner like a ghost in my own skin. Outside, I could hear the ocean’s low murmur through the walls—haunting and beautiful in the way sorrow often is. The baby didn’t cry. Or if he did, Chloe must’ve quieted him quickly. Morning came quietly. The air smelled like salt and damp earth, and for a moment, I wondered if I’d woken up in a dream. My arms were empty, but my chest ached in a way that told me something once precious had been there. My son. The blanket Chloe had given me the night before was bunched at my feet. I hadn't moved it. I hadn’t moved at all. I'd slept sitting up, back pressed to the wall, knees drawn to my chest like a child afraid of the dark. Except the dark was already inside me. The door creaked open. I didn’t look. Java’s voice floated in. Calm, low, kind. “You should eat something. Chloe made tea and eggs.” My stomach churne
Last Updated : 2025-07-04
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