Xavier's throat tightened, and a lump formed, constricting his breath as he watched Cathleen cradle the porcelain doll. She rocked it back and forth with a vacant stare, her fingers gently stroking the smooth surface of its face.

The doll's glassy eyes gleamed in the dim light of their opulent bedroom, casting an eerie glow that matched the emptiness in Cathleen's gaze. It was a grotesque mimicry of the daughter they had lost. Each night since Bella's death, Cathleen has clung to the eerie surrogate, her grief manifesting in this haunting ritual.

Xavier wanted to reach out and shatter the illusion, to tell Cathleen the grim reality of that fateful...