(Alina’s POV)
The rest of the afternoon dragged on like a bad dream I couldn’t wake from. I sat there on the edge of the sofa, half-watching the movie playing on the screen, some overdone comedy Brent picked that none of us were really watching, not even him. It was just background noise to fill the silence between long, drawn-out conversations about places I’d never been to, and memories I was never invited to make.
Austin sat on the other side of Mom, looking perfectly comfortable like he belonged here. Like he’d always belonged. Legs stretched out, one arm tossed over the back of the couch, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, casually tossing Europe stories like they were nothing. Apparently, he’d been to Prague. And Paris. And Switzerland. And my mom laughed—like really laughed, the
