MELISSA’S POV
The house felt too big. Too quiet. Too empty.
I wandered from the couch to the minibar in the corner of my living room, the sound of my own footsteps echoing like I was a stranger in my own space. My cheeks were still damp, my eyes swollen from crying, and my chest ached in that dull, suffocating way that only comes after hours of holding back sobs you couldn’t contain anymore.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the bottles lined up neatly like soldiers ready for duty. My fingers hovered over them before settling on one with a label I didn’t even bother reading. All I knew was that it was strong—65% alcohol. The kind of burn that doesn’t just warm your throat, it sears its way down, demanding to be felt.
I grabbed a clean glass from the shelf, my hands trembling, and
