She watched Charles smooth Mabel’s hair, his every phrase landing carefully, reshaping stray details into a portrait of gentle oversight. Lauren’s pulse ticked unevenly. The fire warmed the room, but that familiar chill of doubt crept in, whispering questions she couldn’t yet voice.
Charles glanced at the window, where snow still swirled faintly. “The roads might worsen again soon,” he said gently to Mabel. “Let me take you home where it’s safe and familiar.” His voice stayed soft and coaxing, like suggesting a favorite chair after a long day.