The morning sun filtered through the hospital window, casting long shadows across Elara’s bed. She hadn’t slept, couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw those photographs – Damian with Veronica, smiling that empty smile she didn’t recognize.

James burst through the door, his face flushed with anger. He was clutching a newspaper, his knuckles white against the crisp pages. “Have you seen this? The nerve of them, parading around like...”

“I saw,” Elara cut him off quietly, her voice raw from crying. “On the news last night.”

Rose, who had refused to leave her daughter alone, shot James a warning look. “Maybe we should focus on getting...