Chapter 4

One evening, after the house had gone quiet, Claire opened the wardrobe and leaned in. Her voice was barely more than breath.

“Come, quietly. Curtains are drawn.”

My heart thudded. We followed her through the hallway, every step a risk. The air outside our room felt lighter, cooler, like a different world.

In the living room, the curtains were pulled tight. The television glowed in the corner.

“Sit,” Claire whispered.

We sank into the sofa. The cushions felt strange after weeks on the mattress. So soft, like I might melt into them. Claire lowered the volume until the sound was hardly more than a hum.

On the screen, colours shifted, voices mumbled. A film. I didn’t even catch the title. It didn’t matter.

Mom pressed her hand to mine. Dad leaned forward, eyes fixed, as if he hadn’t seen a television in years instead of weeks. I wanted to laugh at that, but the laugh stuck.

I thought of movie nights at home. Popcorn, lights off, me sprawled on the carpet. Tim once sat two rows behind us at the cinema; I’d felt his eyes on the back of my head the whole time. That world was gone.

Still, for that hour, I almost forgot. Almost.

Claire coughed once into her sleeve. The sound made me jump more than the film did. She smiled, waved her hand as if to brush it away, then turned back to the screen.

The glow flickered across her face, and I saw how pale she looked, how the skin under her eyes had hollowed. I pressed my lips together and said nothing.