MACEY
Dinner felt suffocating.
My parents’ eyes were sharp, piercing, slicing through Damien with a weight that made my chest tighten. Every glance, every twitch of their lips, sent my pulse racing.
I kept reaching for Damien’s hand under the table, squeezing it gently whenever he faltered, whispering silently to myself that everything was fine, that he was fine. But inside, my stomach churned like a stormy sea.
My palms were slick with sweat, my knees bounced nervously under the table, and I couldn’t help noticing the tension in his jaw and the way his fingers flexed against mine.
I wanted to shield him, to defend him, to somehow tell my parents to back off, but I didn’t know where to start, or if I even could.
When the last bite of dinner was swallowed, the adults moved t
