During the funeral, a raven landed on the girl’s coffin. A second later, everyone present went SPEAK…
“Come in!” His voice was muffled but confident. Emily opened the door and stepped inside. Michael sat at his desk, reviewing papers, but he looked up and smiled when he saw her. His eyes crinkled, as they always did when he was pleased. “Right on time,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Got the documents?”
“Yes, all set.” She placed the folder on his desk. Michael flipped through a few pages, nodding approvingly. “Great work, as always. I knew you’d nail it.” His gaze softened. “Listen, I booked a table at a restaurant tonight. Dinner?”
Emily froze. Not long ago, she would’ve agreed without hesitation. But now… things were different. “I can’t tonight, sorry,” she said quietly, looking away.
“Is this about Abigail?” His tone sharpened. “No, I just don’t feel well.” Her voice wavered, but she held her ground.
Michael narrowed his eyes, studying her. “Want me to drive you home now?” he offered, a trace of the concern that once made her heart flutter.
“Thanks, but I’ll manage.” She straightened, lifting her chin slightly. “Am I free to go?”
He watched her for a long moment, as if trying to read her thoughts, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, sure. Rest up.” His voice was soft, but there was a hint of frustration.
She turned and left the office. The cool evening breeze hit her face as she stepped outside, stinging her cheeks. Her fingers gripped her bag’s strap tightly, her eyes scanning the passersby. People hurried home, smiled, talked on their phones. Each had their own life.
She passed a café where happy couples sat behind the glass. One man wrapped his arm around his girlfriend and kissed her temple. Emily’s heart ached. “Fool,” she whispered to herself.
She walked slowly, as if delaying her return home. The commute was usually routine, but today it felt twice as long. Cars sped by, the wind tousled her hair, but inside, she felt only emptiness.
At a crosswalk, she stared at the red light, barely registering it. Her thoughts were elsewhere. “Hey, lady, move it!” a man shouted behind her. She flinched and stepped forward, not looking back.
At home, Emily dropped her bag by the door and hung her coat on a hook. Standing in the middle of her apartment, she scanned the room. She ran her fingers over her temples, feeling the tension, then leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. Her head dropped to her knees, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Hot tears streamed down her face, her chest tight with pain, as if something inside her was breaking.
“Why did I let this happen?” she sobbed, slamming her palm against the floor. “Why?”
Exhausted, she collapsed onto her bed, the fresh scent of the sheets offering no comfort. “I love him. That’s the problem.” Her gaze fixed on the ceiling light as her eyes slowly closed, fatigue overtaking her.
The morning began as it always did—a relentless alarm clock and a struggle to drag herself out of bed. Emily squinted, reaching for her phone to silence the grating sound. Her fingers found the cold plastic, and the screen went dark.
She sank back into the pillows, pulling the blanket up to her chin. “I can’t do this,” she groaned into her pillow, sighing heavily. Ten more minutes passed before she forced herself to sit up. Her hair was a tangled mess, her eyes stung from lack of sleep, and her mind felt empty…
