Sheila’s POV
The air in my room feels heavy when I wake up, like the walls have soaked in all the things I haven’t said out loud. The blinds are half-closed, letting in thin stripes of late-afternoon sunlight that fall across my bed. I stare at them for a while, trying to decide if I’m okay or just pretending again.
Yesterday’s mess with Brendan hasn’t left me. It’s in my chest, in my throat, every time I breathe. I sit up slowly, my body still sore, my mind running too fast. The house is quiet. No one’s home — or maybe they are, and I’ve just learned how to tune everything out.
My phone is facedown on the nightstand, but I know it’s there, waiting to drag me back to reality. I reach for it anyway. Three missed calls from Tessa, two unread messages from Brendan. My stomach flips.
Brend
