The light filtering through the old curtains was pale and uncertain, casting soft lines across the edge of the bed. Lily sat hunched against the pillows, knees pulled up, her fingers worrying at the edge of the blanket. The silence in the room was heavy—not oppressive, but thoughtful. It was the kind of silence that settled in old houses when grief was trying to catch its breath.
The doorknob turned slowly.
Lily's muscles tensed, her first instinct to pretend to sleep. But something in the hesitant motion of the door stopped her. She glanced up just as it cracked open.
Millie stood there, holding a tray.
Lily blinked, her back straightening slightly. She didn't say anything at first, unsure what to expect. Millie's presence was a ghostly echo of a thousand memories—some good, most painful.
