Chapter Fifty-Three

Beckett

Life doesn’t snap back. It creeps. Slow as hell.

Harlow’s moving better. Still gets tired fast. Still jumps at sudden noises. But she laughs sometimes, and it’s a real laugh. The kind that shakes her shoulders instead of the fake kind that sounds forced. She goes to counseling twice a week and PT every other day. I drive her. I pick her up. I stay close enough that she knows she can reach