Daphne’s POV

The house was too quiet.

Christian was finally asleep upstairs, curled against his stuffed bear, his little chest rising and falling in soft, steady rhythms.

For hours, he’d been restless, nightmares again. I’d sung him to sleep, stroked his hair until his fists unclenched, and only when his breathing deepened did I dare slip away.

Now I sat in the living room, a blanket pulled around my shoulders, the glow of the lamp cutting shadows across the walls.

My tea had gone cold. I ...