Every movement of wind outside pulled her attention back to the porch. By evening, guilt had settled into her bones. She told herself she’d done everything right, reported the incident, followed procedure. But it felt like betrayal. Dinner went untouched.
The forest beyond her window shimmered with heat lightning, the kind that flashed without thunder. She poured a small glass of wine, but it didn’t help. She kept thinking of the cub’s eyes not wild, not trusting, but something in between. When she finally went to bed, she left the window cracked open for air.