Clara, wait—”
“You told me she was gone.”
The words came out sharper than she intended. Not loud. Worse than loud. Thin and shaking.
On the floor beside the bed, their son Daniel lifted his head slowly. His face was pale from exhaustion. A blanket had been wrapped around his shoulders, and for one terrible second Clara thought he might be sick.
Then she saw the dried blood on his sleeve.
Clara’s breath caught.
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