My father had been less enthusiastic about our relationship, although he never openly opposed our marriage.
He had simply asked whether I was certain Flynn understood the responsibilities that came with becoming part of our family.
At the time, I thought my father was being protective because of an attempted kidnapping threat our family had faced years earlier.
Now I understood that his hesitation might have been instinct rather than prejudice.
That afternoon, I awakened alone with sunlight burning through the curtains and a terrible metallic taste coating my tongue.
The clock beside our bed showed a little after four, although I couldn’t remember anything that had happened since lunch.
My limbs felt strangely heavy, and the carpet appeared to tilt beneath my feet when I tried to stand.
I called Flynn’s name twice, but nobody answered.
My phone was missing from the bedside table, and I remembered him taking it after lunch because he claimed its battery needed charging.
