Sheila’s POV
The phone stops vibrating, leaving behind a silence so thick it feels alive. I keep staring at the screen, half expecting it to light up again. It doesn’t. The clock reads 2:37 a.m.
The rain hasn’t stopped. It drips from the window frame, steady and rhythmic, like the heartbeat of the night. I should go back to sleep, but my body doesn’t listen. My mind’s a restless thing, pacing in circles.
I pull my knees to my chest and rest my chin on them. “Not yours,” I whisper again quieter this time, more to convince myself than anything else.
The words sound braver than I feel.
After a while, I climb out of bed and make my way to the kitchen. The apartment is silent, dark except for the small LED glow from the microwave clock. I pour myself water, the coolness grounding me for a
