Savannah's Pov
The picture frame was warm against my palm, though it should have been cold. I had been holding it for hours, clutching it as though my mother's smile could somehow return if I just refused to let go. Her eyes, frozen in that perfect photograph, seemed almost alive when the lamplight touched them. Gentle. Loving. Eternal.
But photographs are deceiving.
They keep intact while the world around them falls apart.
Meanwhile, a glass of red wine in my other hand was shaking. The liquid absorbed the light of the lamp on the nightstand, swirling like blood under water. I turned it against my lips, enjoying the bitter side. It wasn't sweetness I craved. It was numbness.
"Why does everyone leave me?" My voice was broken. "Why does no one stay?"
The words rang in the silence of my room, reverberating off the walls like harsh reminders. The chandelier above moved slightly, and for a moment, I thought I heard giggling in the corners of my memory—a house that was no more.
