Ella
I haven’t been to the nursery since the news of Sinclair’s supposed death broke, and when I walk in I’m greeted with a chorus of excited cries from the children. I kneel down and open my arms to the pups, making sure to kiss every cheek and nose I can reach. “Ella where have you been?!” One of the older girls demands hotly, crossing her arms over her chest, “It’s been ages and ages!”
“Miss Izzy said you were sick.” Someone else interjects before I can answer. “You can borrow my stuffy if you want, she always makes me feel better.”
They’re all clamoring for answers at once, and all I can do is offer hugs and apologies for my absence. “Oh thank you! I know, I’ve been gone too long – but I didn’t want to stay away. That mean doctor ordered me to stay in bed. I promise I’m better now,
