SERAPHINA’S POV
For a long time, I just sat there in the dark, hugging my knees and staring out at nothing.
My vision warped as hot tears slid down my cheeks unhindered. My father’s voice lingered like smoke after a fire—soft, elusive.
‘You were always meant for more.’
I closed my eyes and pressed the heels of my palms against my lids as if I could hold onto him if I just pressed hard enough.
But the dream was already rapidly fading—an echo I couldn’t chase down, no matter how hard I tried.
When I opened my eyes, all that greeted me was the gradual, dim wash of dawn spilling in through the cracks of my blinds.
And the worst part? Confusion tangled with the yawning ache in my chest.
I couldn’t tell if my dream was a memory or…invention.
Had my father truly said those words to me once, in the garden of my childhood?
Or was I so starved for comfort, had I been so triggered by my mother’s visit and that damn pie, that my mind had conjured those tender moments wholesale?
