The air was heavy, thick with the lingering echo of my own scream. I could still taste iron on my tongue, could still feel the pulse of something raw and uncontrollable tearing through my veins. It was one of those nights when I can't sleep, Rick’s body—lifeless and still body carved into my memory.

My chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, but I didn’t cry anymore. I had already cried myself empty. Instead, silence pressed in on me, so loud it made my ears ache.

I made my way ...