27
The morning sun spilled softly through the villa's windows, illuminating the living room where Elena and Adrian sat with Emma on the couch. It was a quiet day, but the quiet felt heavier now, filled with the echoes of the past week's terror.
Silence no longer felt neutral. It carried memories—raised voices, frantic footsteps, the echo of fear that hadn't fully loosened its grip yet. Even in safety, the house remembered.
Emma sat cross-legged between her parents, her favorite stuffed bunny clutched tightly against her chest. "Mommy… Daddy… can we just stay like this today?" she asked, voice tinged with vulnerability and a need for comfort.
The bunny's ears were bent from how tightly she held it, fingers flexing unconsciously every few minutes as if checking that something solid was still there. Elena noticed and didn't comment. Some comforts didn't need to be questioned.
