Zoraya

The palace was quiet tonight.

I curled up on the plush rug beside my bed, knees drawn to my chest, arms wrapped tightly around myself. Ronnie was nestled against my side, his small body warm and comforting. His breathing was steady, rhythmic, and for a moment, I focused on it, matching my own breaths to his.

But no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t shake off the weight pressing down on my chest. The memories clawed at the edges of my mind, restless, demanding to be ...