The room suddenly felt colder, even though nothing had changed.
The same air, the same heavy silence, the same faint hum of the air conditioner, yet I felt it differently now. Everything in me had shifted after reading that headline.
I sat there, staring at the papers spread out before me.
The words blurred in my vision, my heartbeat echoing somewhere deep in my ears.
"Son of the Morris Family Killed the Golden Girl of St. Helena's."
That headline refused to leave my mind. It was almost mocking me.
I knew Dave wasn't a soft man.
He never had been. He was quiet, stern, always keeping a safe emotional distance from everyone.
Even in the years we were married, I could count on one hand the number of times he spoke gently, and most of those moments were when we were at our family's functions.
But being cold… and being a killer?
That thought made my stomach twist painfully.
