Scarlett’s POVHe was gone before I was fully awake.That was the worst part, I think. Not the leaving itself, because I had known it was coming, had spent the whole night pressed against his side, counting his heartbeats precisely because I knew the morning would take them away. The worst part was that I had drifted into sleep somewhere in the small hours, exhausted and medicated and finally, briefly, at peace, and when I opened my eyes, the space beside me was cold, and the house was making the particular quality of silence that meant something significant had been removed from it.I lay still for a moment, listening.Nothing. No footsteps. No shower running in the west wing. No distant sound of his voice on a phone call, that low, authoritative murmur that had become, without my permission, one of the sounds I associated with safety.I got up and went to the window.His truck was gone from the driveway. The gravel where it had sat was slightly disturbed, two shallow parallel lines
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