As Ratika descended the stairs, her eyes were red from crying, but she had managed to compose herself. She held onto her bag, the fabric of her shirt clutched tightly in her fist.
"Let's go," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.
I patted her shoulder gently, offering a silent promise that she wasn't alone in this. The warmth of my touch seemed to ground her as she took a deep breath and nodded. As we turned to leave, her gaze fell on a framed picture of her mother hanging on the wall. Without a second thought, she reached up and carefully took it down, cradling it to her chest like a treasured childhood blanket.
