Darcy excused himself quietly after the conversation, his feet dragging across the uneven floorboards as he walked toward his room. The moment he closed his bedroom door behind him, Flora's sniffing and sobbing were cut off.
The room was cramped, almost suffocating, without a window, and the air felt too stale. The single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling gave a weak yellow glow that flickered now and then, making the room feel unstable.
Darcy sat down on the narrow bed, eyes glued to the test results in his hands.
He stared at them in silence, but the words jumbled in front of his eyes. He tried to focus, to analyse, to make sense of the result. Yet, his mind was blank. A thick fog seemed to cloud every direction, feeding the deep fear gnawing him. A fear of the unknown. Of what might tomorrow look like? What would happen next?
