Annabelle paced the narrow stretch of the hospital corridor, her footsteps muted by the polished floor. 

The fluorescent lighting overhead gave the space a sterile quality, the stark white walls reflecting the cold, clinical glow. 

She clutched her sweater closer to her body, her fingers trembling slightly as they curled into the soft fabric. 

Though flimsy, the grey material felt like a shield against the world pressing in around her.

Since Dante left, an uneasy restlessness had taken root deep in her chest, thrumming with every beat of her heart.

She told herself it was a relief. 

That she had done the right thing. 

Men were unreliable creatures, waiting for...