No one says anything outright.
That’s what unsettles me most.
The house moves around me as if I’m something fragile—something that might shatter if handled too roughly, or worse, explode if handled at all. Conversations lower when I enter a room. Laughter cuts off mid-breath. Someone always finds an excuse to step away.
It’s not hostility.
It’s calculation.
I feel it in the way eyes linger, measuring distance. In the way footsteps slow when they pass me, as if people are deciding whether I’m predictable or not. I don’t need heightened senses to understand that much. But unfortunately, I have them anyway.
Heartbeats tell the truth when mouths won’t.
Fear has a sound. So does uncertainty.
And both follow me everywhere.
Chloe’s voice still echoes in my head, sharp and clear, like it
