ninth morning brought a fragile kind of quiet to the house on Maple Lane. Rain had eased to a soft drizzle, but the tension inside felt heavier than any storm. Amina’s door stayed closed until nearly eleven. When she finally came downstairs, she looked like she hadn’t slept — hair messy, eyes swollen, wearing an old Willow Creek Festival hoodie that used to make us all laugh.
Elias and I were at the kitchen table, his hand resting possessively on my thigh under the table, thumb stroking slow circles. The moment she appeared, his grip tightened, that clingy need surfacing even now.
“Coffee?” Elias asked gently, already reaching for a mug.
Amina nodded once and sat across from us, arms wrapped around herself. “I talked to Lena last night. And Tyler. They don’t know the whole story, but th
