MADELINE’S POV
It had been a day.
Just one day, yet it felt like weeks had passed—like my body had crossed a line my mind hadn’t caught up with. Time hadn’t moved normally since I left that cabin. Everything felt slowed, stretched, unreal.
I was sitting on my bed with my knees pulled to my chest, the curtains half-drawn, sunlight bleeding into the room in thin, quiet lines. My diary rested on my lap, its worn leather cover familiar beneath my fingers. I had owned it since I was sixteen. It had seen every version of me—the scared one, the hopeful one, the angry one.
And now… this one.
I opened it and stared at the blank page for a long time before finally writing.
I slept with him.
The words looked wrong on paper. Too blunt. Too honest.
My pen hovered as my chest tightened.
Calhoun
