Joanne stayed with Charlotte, watching over her as the girl's breathing steadied, her small frame finally surrendering to exhaustion. Poor thing. She had been through so much today.
As Joanne brushed a stray curl from Charlotte's cheek, a surge of protectiveness swelled within her. The girl deserved peace.
Quietly, she slipped out of the room.
But the moment she stepped onto the staircase, a strange unease slithered up her spine. The house was too still—eerily silent, just like that morning. A shiver ran through her, but she pushed forward, forcing her feet down each step.
He wouldn't have left. He wouldn't leave just like that.
Just as she reached the bottom stair, the front door creaked open ever so slightly.
Her breath hitched.
In a flash, she lunged for the cupboard, fingers closing around the grip of her gun. Her pulse pounded as she aimed at the door, her knuckles white from the tight hold.
She hated this.
Being on edge all the time.
