Chapter 4
Elowyn woke to the sound of rain tapping faintly against her window—soft and lazy, like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to commit. She blinked up at the ceiling for a few slow breaths, letting herself settle into the quiet. No rushing. No plans. Just… morning.
Her feet hit the cool floorboards, and she padded to the bathroom, beginning her routine in the only order that felt right:
Toothbrush.
Face wash.
Comb.
Done.
Her reflection looked the same as always—hair doing its usual morning rebellion, cheeks still holding that soft puffiness that made her seem younger than her twenty years. She leaned in a little, squinting like maybe today her face had decided to do something different. It hadn’t. Figures.
She smoothed her hairline down with her palm before flicking off the light.
The kitchen was still and warm. Her dad was already gone, but a sticky note waited beside the toaster, written in his messy half-cursive:
With Mrs. Patel fixing the sink.
Left you a waffle in the microwave.
Love you, fairy.
— Dad
The waffle was still warm. Small wins.
She gathered a fork, a condiment bowl, the syrup bottle, and grabbed an apple juice from the fridge with the other hand.
At the table, she poured syrup into the small bowl first—carefully—and only then cut the waffle into neat triangles.
Each piece the same size, each placed back in the same spot she took it from.
The muscle memory of it soothed her.
She dipped a piece into the syrup and took a bite.
Warm. Sweet. Safe.
For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel rushed or overwhelmed.
Just content.
?
Eventually, after taking her time enjoying breakfast, she pulled her long hair into a loose bun and settled onto the living room rug with her crochet project: an unfinished lavender blanket she absolutely didn’t need but was determined to finish.
The yarn felt soft beneath her fingers, familiar in a way that made her chest loosen.
Loop. Pull. Loop. Pull.
The rain made a rhythm on the windows that matched her hands. She hummed under her breath, letting the quiet of the house wrap itself around her.
Every now and then, her thoughts slipped. Not far—just a tiny flicker of memory.
A tall woman.
Dark hair.
Sharp eyes.
A coat that moved like movie wind followed her everywhere.
Her hook caught wrong, pulling the yarn loose.
She huffed at it, getting slightly annoyed.
And then very pointedly, she did not think about Ms. Monroe anymore.
A few rows later, her hands found their rhythm again.
When she was done for the morning, she folded the blanket-in-progress into a tidy square, smoothing the edges once…
twice… three times. Then she stood, stretched, and wandered around the living room, straightening the remote controls, lining the pillows so they matched, opening the window an inch for fresh air.
Her phone buzzed.
Dad:
Fairy, I’m grabbing lunch. Want to come with?
She was already pulling her shoes from the rack.
“Yeah,” she texted back, “I’ll be ready in a sec.”
The rain had stopped by the time she met him in the driveway. The air smelled like wet pavement and cold air—one of her favorite combinations. Driving with the windows slightly cracked open, her dad drumming to some upbeat song that absolutely did not match the gloomy sky.
They grabbed a stuffed-crust pizza from Elowyn’s favorite place, deciding to dine in.
The restaurant was warm and a little noisy, but not in a way that bothered her—more like a background hum she could blend into.
Her dad chatted about work while she picked off the crispy cheese bubbles from her slice.
He stole one of her chips when he thought she wasn’t looking. She let him have it.
?
After lunch, they stopped at the grocery store.
The cart had a squeaky wheel.
Of course.
Elowyn tried to ignore it for three aisles before politely asking her dad if they could switch carts. He didn’t even question it, just grabbed a new one with a brief, understanding smile.
She grabbed mac and cheese, a box of pre-cut pineapples that were too expensive, the good apple juice, a bag of her dino nuggets, and a few of her snacks she was low on.
Elowyn could not survive without her beloved snacks.
When they reached the hardware section—because her dad never not needed something—they slowed by a display of power drills. He paused, tapping his chin seriously, as if choosing between two nearly identical models was a life-threatening decision.
Then his phone buzzed.
He checked it with a small hum.
“Hmm… Monroe confirmed the appointment.”
Elowyn didn’t look up.
Didn’t twitch.
Didn’t breathe differently.
Just examined a shelf label very intently.
Her own phone buzzed a second later.
Will:
Are you alive today or has the spirit of That Woman consumed you?
She snorted, typing back:
Elowyn:
i crocheted and ate a waffle.
Will:
Translation: you’re spiraling.
Elowyn:
i’m literally buying pasta and nuggets with my dad.
Will:
Classic spiral behavior.
She smiled despite herself, showing the phone back into her pocket before he can send ten more messages.
?
When done shopping, the pair headed home. Her dad unloaded the groceries while she organized the fridge—juice boxes lined up, pineapples stacked nicely, everything in the right spot.
Later, she curled up in her room with a book, blanket draped over her legs. The window was cracked open, letting in a soft breeze that cooled her cheek.
The afternoon drifted by in gentle pieces.
Her dad watching TV in the living room.
Her book turning calm page after calm page.
The distant hum of passing cars outside.
The house smelling faintly of mac and cheese she made on impulse.
By the time the sky deepened to blue, she was sleepy in that soft, comfortable way—like her mind had finally quieted.
She closed her book and curled deeper under her blanket-in-progress.
For once, nothing felt too loud or too fast.
Just warm.
Just steady.
Just enough.
She let herself drift.