Steve had meant to just check in on Mara, but she had left the gallery when he returned to pick her up.
The house was unusually quiet for a place that held so much tension these days. He had walked in without knocking—he never did knock when it came to Mara, his baby sister. The one they were all trying to protect, even if none of them really knew how to do it right anymore.
The door to her room was slightly ajar. The soft glow of the lamplight spilled across the floor like a whisper. He stepped in carefully, the familiar scent of lavender and the faintest trace of baby powder clinging to the air. She was already asleep.
Or maybe passed out from exhaustion.
She looked smaller somehow. Curled up like that, wrapped around her belly as if she were trying to guard it from the world. He swallowed hard. It still felt unreal—she was twenty. Just twenty. And carrying twins.
