NIGHT had settled fully over the house, wrapping it in a quiet that felt heavier than usual. Amelia sat on the edge of her dresser, her body angled toward the mirror, her eyes fixed on her own reflection. The soft glow from the bedside lamp illuminated her face, highlighting the faint lines of worry etched across her forehead.
She barely recognized the woman staring back at her.
Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Hazel.
When had it started? When had her once gentle, affectionate daughter who used to curl up beside her on the couch and chatter endlessly begun to harden this way? The sharp words. The hostility. The defiance that seemed to flare up whenever Charles so much as breathed in her direction. It frightened Amelia more than she cared to admit.
At first she had dismissed it as nor
