“Her room is just as you left it.”
Rowan stands, still not allowing me near. “I’ll put her down. Then we’ll talk.”
I nod and watch them disappear up the staircase. Part of me is terrified she’ll slip out a window, vanish again. But I force myself to remain where I am, to give her the space she clearly needs.
The minutes stretch into an eternity. I pace the living room, leaving bloody fingerprints on everything I touch.
When Rowan returns, her face is a carefully constructed mask. “She’s asleep.”
“Good.” I gesture to the couch. “Please.”
She sits at one end. I take the opposite, maintaining the chasm between us. We’re like magnets with the wrong poles facing—so desperate to connect but repelled by forces beyond our control.
“What are you going to do?” she asks finally.
“I don’t know
