The drive home is silent, radio off. Elsa should be coming home tomorrow with her son.

Their son?

Anna hasn't asked, and she almost doesn't want to.

It's not even that late by the time she gets home. The clock says it's just past 8, which doesn't seem real.

She doesn't bother having a shower; she can take one in the morning. Anna gets dressed into her pyjamas and slides into the bed she shares with Elsa.

"Love you, Els," she whispers into the dark, silent night. There's no one to whisper back.