Clara was woken by a soft knock at the door.
Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment she had no idea where she was, until her gaze landed on the high, cream-paneled ceiling and the familiar furniture. Their bedroom.
She was fully dressed. That was a good sign.
The last thing she remembered was her conversation with Riley at the bar, her voice echoing in her own head, the smell of whiskey in the air. After that, it all became a blur: a blurry recollection of Riley insisting on driving her home, a shadowy memory of Ethan's face in the hallway, her lips moving as though she'd said something important, although she couldn't recall the words.
Her head throbbed and her mouth was dry. She pushed herself upright just as the knock came again.
When she opened the door, Margaret stood there holding a glass of pale liquid. Standing just behind her was little Axiel, his small hands clasped in front of him, peeking nervously into the room.
"Good morning, dear," Margaret said softly. "Drink this. Breakfast will be in an hour."
Clara managed a grateful smile as she accepted the glass. "Thank you. Have you seen Ethan?"
"He's in the study," She replied, then turned to Axiel who was still peeking into the room. "Axiel, You can keep her company."
The moment Margaret stepped away, Axiel moved to the door entrance. "Can I come in, Clara?"
"Of course." She stepped aside, and he wandered in, glancing curiously around as though committing every detail of her space to memory.
"My brother told me you were sick last night," he said, his tone halfway between concern and amusement. "At first I thought he just didn't want me to see you, but I believe him now. You don't look so good."