Janice couldn't shake Harold's pleading voice and those hopeful eyes from her mind, even after she got home. The sadness lingered, wrapping around her like a heavy fog.
Charles came back to find her dazed, sitting on the living room sofa. Trista was on the carpeted floor, playing with her blocks, her sparkling eyes full of focused innocence — so much like Janice's own.
"What's on your mind? You look lost…" A strong arm slipped around her waist. Janice felt a chill on her cheek before Charles lifted her up and carried her upstairs. He hated seeing her like this, as if she forgot he existed.
Janice gasped, surprised by his sudden action, clutching his neck. "Put me down! Trista's still downstairs…"
"There's someone there. We'll have them bring Trista up later," Charles answered without missing a beat, striding up to their bedroom. He kicked the door open with his foot, then shut it behind him, tossing Janice onto their soft, inviting bed. His body followed swiftly.
