Sandra stirred awake to the feeling of emptiness beside her. The other half of the bed was cold—Michael was already up. She blinked against the morning light filtering through the blinds and sat up slowly, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Her heart felt heavy again, weighed down by the unease that had refused to leave since that morning she heard the call.
She got up, slipped her feet into her house slippers, and walked to the bathroom to splash water on her face. The cold helped, but only a little.
As she stepped out of the bathroom, a sound reached her ears—laughter.
Michael’s.
And his sister’s.
It was coming from downstairs.
Their voices carried a lightness she hadn’t felt in weeks. She paused briefly at the top of the stairs, trying to steady herself, then descended with a calm face carefully painted on.
“Good morning,” she said gently.
Michael looked up immediately and beamed. He stood, walked toward her, and wrapped her in a casual hug.
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