EMMA
The morning sun slipped through the window blinds in faint golden stripes, brushing against Olivia's cheeks as she twirled in front of the mirror.
Her laugh, all bubbles, and mischief, echoed in the room like music that never got old.
I couldn't help the soft smile tugging at the corner of my lips as I helped zip up her little knee-length gown, white with tiny lavender flowers dotting the hem like whispers of spring.
"You look like a little queen," I murmured, smoothing her hair back and sliding a clip into place. She beamed at me like I had handed her the stars.
We both got ready in that small pocket of time when the world felt kind—no Nyx, no Ian.
Just the quiet of the house and the soft sound of our footsteps echoing against marble. I didn't question their absence. I didn't want to.
Whatever the reason, the air felt lighter without their presence pressing down on me. I wasn't going to chase ghosts before breakfast.
