Irene felt as if she was living in a cloud and couldn't see outside of it. It felt like she was in her own universe.
This grief was truly eating her alive.
She wasn't sure how long it had been since her father's funeral, but she was spending most of her time sleeping. For some reason, there was a sick thought within her that perhaps this wasn't real. Had it just been another dream that she would wake up from years in the past and have to figure out a solution against? That would be the ideal situation.
To test this theory, Irene squeezed the hand she had cut some time before; she let out a gasp. That pain was real. This reality… was real.
The only person who could break into her fog moved closer to her in the bed they shared. She had hardly realized Henry was there.
"What are you doing?" he asked, concerned.
He had been observing her for a while.
