Thalia opened the door to Thea's room. She stood on the threshold, her hand still resting on the handle, and for a moment she couldn't make herself step forward.
The room looked exactly as Thea had left it. A single pillow still bearing the indentation of Thea's head. A half-bottle of water sat on the nightstand.
Thalia's eyes traced the room. Her breath caught in her throat. She pressed her lips together hard, forcing the sting behind her eyes to retreat.
She had told herself she would be strong. She had told herself that she would walk into this room, gather what she needed, and walk back out without falling apart.
But her mind betrayed her. Over the last few days, she had watched her daughter's chest rise and fall to the rhythm of machines that breathed for her. She had listened to doctors use words like "overdose" and "attempted suicide," and she had stood there in the hospital hallway, her entire world tilting on its axis.
