Callie
The bell above the cafe door chimed softly as I stepped inside, and for a moment the warmth of the place wrapped around me like a blanket. The air was thick with the scent of roasted beans and cinnamon, chatter floating lazily between tables, punctuated by the clink of mugs against saucers.
It should have been comforting. A normal morning in town, people gossiping over pastries, students hunched over laptops. But my stomach twisted as if I had swallowed stones.
I kept my head down while I ordered, my voice barely audible above the noise. Then I slipped into a corner seat near the window, hoping the world would forget I was here.
It didn’t.
Through the glass, across the street, Mary stood with her hand looped casually through a shopping bag, chatting animatedly with Mrs. Maxwell
