Bree
Rachel’s gaze landed on me, and just like that, so did everyone else’s. It was suffocating—sitting there with the weight of every pair of eyes pressing against my skin, feeling like they’d already connected the dots, already whispered the truth of Gabriella’s story in their heads. They know it’s about me.
“Alright, Bree,” Rachel said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips as if she was grateful I’d snatched the attention away from Gabriella before she could twist the knife further. “Let’s hear your story.”
My stomach lurched. I dropped my eyes to my trembling fingers, clasped tight together in my lap. Nervousness pooled in my chest like a storm cloud, each heartbeat a clap of thunder. But I had to do this. I had to speak, to defend myself—because if I didn’t, Gabriella’s version
