ISABELLA
The morning sunlight pushed its way through the slats in my blinds, thin stripes of gold cutting across the dull gray of my room.
I stared at them like they were some kind of divine message. Maybe they were. “Get up,” they seemed to say. Or, more likely, “Get a life.”
I groaned and rolled over, dragging the pillow with me like a security blanket, even though it smelled like a mix of old detergent and last night’s regret.
My eyes landed on the flowers, wilted now, petals slumped like they’d given up and the small gift box sitting abandoned on my dresser. Both just sitting there, like an accusation.
Logan’s visit replayed in my head like an unwanted highlight reel.
I sighed and pressed the heel of my hand against my chest. It didn’t help. There was an ache lodged somewhere u
