This is not Sarah. Beside him, Rosalind shifted once and settled. Jack stayed awake for a long time after that. Listening to her breathe. Listening to the house. Listening to the exact moment hope died and something colder took its place. He said nothing the next morning. That was the hardest part.
Rosalind stood in the kitchen making coffee while Willow sat at the table swinging her legs and Eli argued with her over whether rabbits counted as intelligent life. The scene was so painfully ordinary Jack almost hated it. He watched Rosalind move around the kitchen in his wife’s face. Poured cereal for his son while wondering who the hell was sleeping in his bed.