LUCIAN
What the f**k am I doing here again.
I’d asked myself that question at least six times already, maybe more, sitting in the back of the car with the engine idling and the windows half tinted. Just enough to see what was happening around.
I hated that I was here.
Hated that her words had followed me out of that office and straight into my head like they belonged there. About presence. About showing up.
I’d barely gotten any real work done all day. Numbers blurred. Calls went unanswered. I’d stood up from my desk the second the clock hit 3:15 p.m. on the dot, coat already in my hand like my body had decided for me.
Now here I was.
Staring at the damn school.
Kids started spilling out of the building in noisy waves. Backpacks too big for their frames, untucked shirts and laugh
