Here's the expanded version of the chapter, written to provide deeper introspection and dialogue:
Chapter 8
I sat by the window, staring out into the gray abyss beyond the glass. The rain had turned the garden into a tangle of soggy leaves and mud. The rose bushes looked pathetic, their blooms weighed down by water, petals scattering into the dirt. It was as though even the earth itself had given up trying to keep things alive.
Joan sat across from me in her usual place, her hands folded neatly on her lap, her back impossibly straight. Always poised, always calm, even when life tossed us into the depths. She had been there every day since it happened, her presence steady and unwavering. She was a lighthouse I couldn't bear to look at, and yet, I couldn't seem to send her away.
"Emily," she said softly, breaking the silence that had settled thick between us. "You've hardly touched your tea."
