CAMILA
~
The next morning, I dragged myself back to my room after a very awkward breakfast where I tried not to think too hard about the fact that I was wearing Ethan’s shirt. Or that my mom was suspiciously glowing like someone who hadn’t just been mourning the death of her dignity last night. And let’s not even talk about Ethan—who looked like he hadn’t slept at all.
But whatever.
I stepped into my room and closed the door behind me with a soft click, leaning back against it and sighing like I’d just returned from war. In some ways, I had. Emotional warfare. Mental chaos. Secret agency. Suspicious stains and an endless trail of awkwardness. And now? Now I had laundry duty, apparently.
I glanced toward the small heap of clothes piled messily near the foot of my bed. All of them mine
