Claire wasn’t expecting company.
She was in sweatpants and a tank top, her hair in a messy bun, nursing a half-drunk glass of red wine while a muted reality show played in the background. The apartment was dimly lit, the air scented faintly of lavender from the candle burning on her coffee table.
When the knock came, it wasn’t urgent—but it was persistent.
She frowned, setting her glass down and padding barefoot toward the door.
The last person she expected to see when she opened it was Brad.
His hair was a mess, shirt slightly wrinkled, jaw dusted with stubble like he hadn’t slept. And his eyes—red-rimmed, glassy—looked like a man slowly unraveling.
“Brad?” she asked, startled. “What—what are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer right away. He just stared at her like she was the only
