I woke to the buzzing of my phone like an alarm set by someone who didn’t care how it sounded. For a second I lay there, lungs tight and heart beating like it wanted out, trying to pull the night away from me. The room smelled faintly of aftershave and stale coffee. My head felt thick; I hadn’t slept properly in days. But when I grabbed the phone, I didn’t look at the time. I looked at the names.
Ava. Leah. Unknown. News alerts. Messages. The screen was a small bright wound in my palm.
I opened my feed and it hit me again, the photos, the headlines, the comments.
#AvaWilliamsExposed.#BestFriendFiance. The same pictures we’d prayed wouldn’t go public were everywhere: the café shot, the hotel moment, cropped close so faces looked almost obscene. The words were a crowd on the page: condem
