The morning sun broke through the blinds in thin, sharp lines, cutting across Sheila’s bedroom in patterns that made the world feel too bright, too awake. She sat on the edge of her bed, shoulders hunched, fingers tightening around her phone. Today was another game day, another chance to perform her role perfectly, yet her mind refused to cooperate. Every press conference, every public interaction with Atticus, and now every game felt like navigating a battlefield she hadn’t signed up for.
Her thoughts drifted to last night—Atticus’s messages, the fleeting intimacy, the unspoken apologies in the heat of their closeness. That brief window of connection had been a refuge, yet this morning, it felt like a cruel reminder of what had been lost. Her chest tightened at the memory of his touch, h
