My heart plunged into ice. Sophie stayed that night. In the guest room. All night, Mark's muffled reassurances seeped through walls—a grating hum. I lay awake. Dawn approached; Mark slipped into our bedroom, heavy with fatigue and cold.
Feeble Clarification
In darkness, he lingered before speaking hoarsely. "Emily... sorry. Sophie unraveled; I feared the worst. Her words... ignore them. During episodes, she rambles." He reached for my hand. I jerked away. Silence congealed. He sighed heavily. "Rest." Then left.
The Catalyst
A week of eerie calm passed. An ordinary Wednesday afternoon. At work, my phone rang—Mark. Background chaos, ambulance wails. His voice shook. "Emily... hurry... city hospital! Sophie... slit her wrist!" My mind blanked.
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