EMMALINE
After Alexander makes his announcement, before I can form a single question, before I can even open my mouth, he’s already walking away. His plate is left half-finished, his chair angled slightly back as though he’d only been resting there for a moment before deciding he had better things to do. He disappears down the hall without a glance over his shoulder, the sound of his footsteps fading into nothing.
I sit there staring at the empty space he leaves behind, my fork still in my hand, my breakfast suddenly tasting like cardboard.
The rest of the day slips by in a haze. I move through it the way you move through water, everything muffled, slow, and just a little too heavy. I try to read at one point, but the words blur and drift, my eyes sliding over the same sentence three ti
