nto the back of her closet, behind the beige and the cream and the carefully

bought online last winter one of those many nights when Marcus was at a

a long deep breath, inhaling the smell of t

nt that she had not been prepared for. It was not grief. It was want. A small, sharp want to move. To feel. To sweat. T

e phone had because wanting ca

wanting once before. She had wanted to be looked after, to be seen, to be cherished

hought, shaking. I can wa

lieve it, she still went ahead

y the one family nobody dared to cross. Wenthworths owned the ports, the power grid, half the ban

the cheap leggings, her heart beating

zed on the pa

rc

car at Wenth

at the scre

ion sharing the night before, carefully, quietly,

I was here? Was

arrived before s

. Come ho

script rising, the apology, the swift sensible of course, I'm on my way, the whol

he windshield at the gl

ed like a leaf, she turned th

phone turned over. Nobody in

hree years, something insid

out of