Hestrel comes in with my breakfast, but I ask her to leave it and go. The ache in my chest feels unbearable, and solitude seems like my only comfort. She gathers up the new hairdryer on her way out. Later, she brings lunch, but it too lies untouched on the table.

All morning and into the afternoon, I keep myself curled up on the bed, tears flowing freely. The weight of losing my mother crushes me. Worse yet, my mate can’t assure me that his mother had no part in her death. ...