I stand at the stove, mindlessly stirring the eggs in the pan, my thoughts miles away. The kitchen feels too quiet, despite the sizzle and pop of breakfast cooking. My stomach is a knot of anxiety, twisting tighter with each second that passes. The weight of last night hangs in the air, undeniable, unspoken, yet impossible to ignore.
I hear Ryan’s footsteps behind me, soft but steady, and my heart races. I know this conversation is inevitable, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I turn slightly as he approaches, and there’s a brief silence as we both try to find our footing in the aftermath of what happened.
Ryan leans against the counter, his gaze fixed on me. “Tess, can we talk?”
I stop stirring and glance at him, trying to mask the uncertainty swirling inside me. “I guess,” I say soft
