Moira hadn’t left the hotel room in two days. The silence hung thick in the air, oppressive in its stillness. She could feel the weight of it, pressing against her chest, each moment ticking by like a distant drumbeat, echoing the chaos of her mind. The glass of red wine on the table had grown warm, forgotten. The letter from her father, still crumpled in her hand, was now stained with the remnants of her tears, but she refused to let it go. She couldn't. The words had dug into her heart, and ...