That night, sleep deserted her. Memories surfaced in fragments: hallways filled with mocking laughter, a girl shrinking into herself, Carol’s own voice raised cruelly, echoed by others. She pressed her hands over her ears, but the echoes persisted. Some ghosts, she realized, didn’t fade. They waited.
Morning came gray and damp. Diane shuffled into the kitchen, still chewing on toast, and asked, “Why do you look like you haven’t slept in a week?” Carol forced a smile. “Just nerves. Important day.” She kept her tone light, though her chest tightened at the thought.