Kieran sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the phone in his hands. The screen was dark, the last message from Clara still lingering in his mind. He had read it twice, maybe three times, and each reading only left him more unsettled. Something in her tone. Short, clipped, almost cold, which had set off a chain of doubts in his mind.
He could still remember how she had walked out earlier that evening, her shoulders stiff, her eyes avoiding his. It had been such a minor comment he had made which is something about their weekend plans, but somehow, it had landed wrong.
Kieran ran a hand through his hair and leaned back against the headboard. He wanted to call her, to explain, to fix it, but every time he imagined doing so, a voice in the back of his mind whispered caution. He didn’t want
