Chapter Fifty-Seven

Beckett

Harlow’s slipping through my fingers, and I don’t know how to stop it.

She’s here, but she’s not here. Half the time she won’t eat, the other half she won’t even get out of bed. When she does, she just sits by the window, staring at nothing. I catch her crying sometimes, quiet, hidden, like she’s trying to smother it before I can notice. And when I do, when I ask what’s wrong, she just wi