Gwen thought the grief would feel sharper with Elizabeth around, or that she’d have to endure passive-aggressive remarks at every turn. Instead, what formed between them was quiet. Mutual. It wasn’t affection, not yet—but it was support. And Gwen, though hesitant at first, was beginning to feel grateful.
One morning, Gwen woke up with her head pounding. She’d cried herself to sleep the night before—memories of Albert too loud to ignore. Her limbs felt heavy, her thoughts slow. She dragged herself out of bed, just to get water, barely able to walk straight without gripping the wall.