Each time she startled awake, the leftover child’s shoe on the shelf seemed to stare at her, as though questioning her right to be here. “I’m imagining things,” she muttered to herself, pressing a pillow over her ears to block out the storm’s howling wind.
The next morning, Eliza overslept her alarm. She jolted awake to beams of gray daylight streaming through the blinds. Orion still hadn’t come home. Her throat constricted. She had to work, but how could she focus knowing her cat might be lost or hurt? With trembling fingers, she called in, explaining she needed a personal day. Her voice wavered with unshed tears.