Chapter 13
The small second-floor bedroom in Martha's farmhouse was flooded with pale afternoon sunlight that bounced off the freshly painted pale yellow walls. Elena stood in the center of the room, running her hand along the smooth wooden rail of a secondhand crib that Martha's brother had restored the previous weekend. There were no cameras here, no hidden microphones, no chat streams scrolling across a black glass screen. Just the sound of wind rustling the dry oak leaves outside the window and the distant barking of a neighbor's dog. Elena felt a gentle kick from within, and this time she laughed out loud, a sound that felt foreign and bright in the quiet space. She knelt down to unpack a cardboard box of baby clothes—simple cotton onesies in soft greens and grays—folding each one with meticulous care and placing them in the bottom drawer of the white wooden dresser.
