Daniel’s older sister. Calm. Warm. Efficient. She spoke in reassurances, in plans that sounded reasonable to a man drowning in loss.
“I’ll raise her as my own,” Marissa had said. “She’ll have siblings. Stability. You can stay focused on your work.”
She’d suggested distance gently, like medical advice. “Too many transitions confuse babies,” she’d said. “Let her bond. When she’s older, we’ll revisit.”
Everett had agreed because grief makes cowards of even the most powerful men.
Haven Row Shelter smelled of disinfectant and soup. The walls bore children’s drawings taped with care, attempts at brightness against fatigue. Everett felt suddenly exposed in his tailored coat, as though the building itself knew he didn’t belong here.
Mrs. Okafor met them with a steady gaze and no awe. “Who are you looking for?” she asked.
“My granddaughter,” Everett said. “Elara Langston.”
Recognition crossed her face, not surprise but something closer to guarded understanding. “She’s helping in the kitchen.”
They found Elara washing dishes.