Victor's POV
The living room felt different with Sharon in it.
I didn't sit. My legs were trembling badly enough that I had to grip the back of the armchair across from her, but I stayed upright. I needed to be upright. I didn't know why. Maybe because sitting felt like surrender. Maybe because standing, shaking as I was, was the only way I could keep the illusion of control.
Beyond the closed front doors, I could hear the staff. Low voices. Hurried whispers. None of them had been with us before the accident and I could only imagine what this night was doing to them. Because it was doing enough to me.
"Sharon." My voice came out rougher than I intended. "I need you to tell me everything."
She looked up, and for a moment the exhaustion on her face was so complete, so total, that I almost stopped. She looked like someone who'd been wrung out so many times there was nothing left to wring.
"Everything," she repeated softly. "Vic, I wouldn't even know where to start."
