Free Sample
Preview from chapter one
As the soft, golden light of a new day filters through the curtains of the quiet house, I make my way down the hallway. The floorboards creak ever so slightly beneath my feet, a familiar and comforting sound in the early morning stillness. My destination is the room at the end, where my nineteen-year-old daughter's gentle snores have become part of the fabric of my mornings. I pause outside her door, the cool wooden surface a silent sentinel to the life inside.
I extend my hand and gently turn the doorknob, feeling the smooth metal beneath my fingertips. The door opens with a faint squeak, a sound I've learned to ignore over the years. The room beyond is a sanctuary of soft pastels and a mess that's somehow endearing in the early light. I step in, my eyes scanning the cluttered desk and the floor littered with discarded clothes. The faint smell of incense lingers in the air, a reminder of the late-night study sessions she often has. Her bed, a messy haven of tangled blankets and pillows, is still occupied. I smile, knowing she's safe and sound. The curtains billow slightly in the morning breeze, carrying the scent of fresh dew and blooming flowers from the garden outside. I tiptoe across the room, careful not to disturb her slumber. The soft hum of her computer fan whispers a lullaby of technology, a stark contrast to the organic sounds of the world waking up outside. I lean over to place a kiss on her forehead, feeling the warmth of her skin and the softness of her hair. "Good morning, Chloe," I murmur, though she doesn't stir. I know she'll wake soon, and our day together will begin.
The quiet is abruptly pierced by the jarring sound of the alarm clock. I watch her eyelids flutter open, revealing sleepy, hazel eyes that squint against the sudden intrusion of light. She sits up with a start, pushing back the hair that's fallen over her face. For a moment, she looks around the room, as if she's not quite sure where she is. Then she looks at me, her expression a puzzling mix of confusion and concern. "Dad," she says, her voice still thick with sleep, "I feel weird."
"What's wrong, Chloe?" I ask, my heart quickening with worry as I sit on the edge of her bed. Her cheeks are flushed, and there's a sheen of sweat on her forehead that wasn't there moments ago. She looks up at me with a furrowed brow, her eyes searching mine for answers. "I think I might have a temperature," she murmurs, her hand coming up to her cheek to feel for warmth.