Five days. That was the number echoing through the Harrington mansion, as if repeating it might undo reality.
Five days without eating, five days growing weaker, five days during which the most expensive doctors in Miami had come and gone with polished reassurances, leaving behind the same suffocating silence in the marble halls.
Little Evan Harrington was not yet two. His brown eyes looked far too large for his fragile face. He didn’t cry or protest.
He simply sat, staring at nothing, as if he had already decided to disappear. In a home overflowing with luxury toys, childhood had gone quiet.
