Bree
I was exhausted—completely and utterly broken. After three nights spent curled up on a wooden bench, my body was working overtime just to keep me standing. My limbs ached, my back throbbed from the awkward angles, and every muscle screamed for rest. But even as I longed for the comfort of a real bed, even as I craved the simple warmth of a soft blanket and the safety of silence, nothing inside me wanted to crawl back into that cabin. The thought alone made my stomach twist.
Still, I had pushed through. Somehow, I had almost made it through the first full week of camp. And while it felt like everything around me was slowly falling into place—the way my body began to adapt to the morning runs, the way I managed to kill it at the first book club meeting—I could still feel the weight dr
