Valerie hadn't slept properly in days. The unanswered calls were like needles under her skin. First one. Then two. Then a week. Every time she dialed, the answer was the same silence or Jay's tired, hushed voice telling her not to worry.
"She's just resting, Val," he'd say at first. Then later: "She hasn't left her room all day. Just feeds Anya. That's all." And then, even later, his voice would break slightly. "She doesn't eat anymore. She looks like a ghost."
The maids repeated the same thing like a chorus. She's not leaving her room. She doesn't talk to anyone. Only the baby matters.
Valerie had tried to tell herself it was grief,grief needed time. She had tried to tell herself Elena was strong, stronger than most. But as the days turned into nights and the nights into a crawling dread, Valerie's gut told her the truth: Elena wasn't healing. She was slipping.
She couldn't take it anymore.
