EMMALINE
I don’t sleep.
Not even for a moment.
The night stretches endlessly, hours dragging themselves across the floor like wounded animals. The silence in the room is unbearable. Too heavy, too sharp. It presses on me, crushing, reminding me with every heartbeat that I am alone.
The bed is too big. Too cold. The sheets smell faintly of him, and that makes it worse. Every shift I make, every breath I take, feels like a cruel echo of what I’ve just lost.
When I close my eyes, I see him. Not the Alexander I knew, not the one who once touched me like I was something breakable, but the man who walked away tonight. His face, his voice, the sharp edge of his silence—it haunts me.
So I cry.
I cry until my body shakes, until my chest burns, until my voice is hoarse from gasps that claw th
