MACEY
By the time I hit the traffic light close to my place, my phone was vibrating nonstop. Notifications kept popping up one after the other until it sounded like a damn alarm. Texts, calls, mentions, news alerts—everything lighting up like the world had collectively decided to lose its mind.
I hadn’t even made it home yet.
I pulled over by the side of the road, my fingers trembling as I reached for my phone. For a second, I just stared at it. Part of me already knew what I was going to find—and the other part wasn’t ready to see it.
Then I opened it.
And my heart dropped straight to the floor.
There it was. The video. The one from earlier. Me yelling at that journalist, saying things I didn’t even know I was capable of saying. Every word, every glare, every ounce of grief an
