The cab ride home was silent. Not because the driver didn’t try to make conversation—he did, asking twice if she wanted the radio on—but because Amelia couldn’t find the strength to speak. Her limbs were heavy with something worse than exhaustion. It was the ache of memory, the pull of old wounds reopened. The sting of walking away... again.
She could still feel Oliver’s little arms around her neck. Still hear Lilian’s voice dripping with venom. Still see Andrew, standing there with Sophia, their hands entwined. She had to accept it, she didn't belong to Andrew's world.
Amelia closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to the cool glass of the car window.
She hadn’t intended to go back to her apartment tonight. Claire had offered to stay up and talk, to make her tea and let her rant. But Am
