LAVENDER’S POV
My body betrays me first, before the fear, before the thoughts spiral, before I can lie to myself again and say I’m fine. It starts with nausea so sharp it makes my vision blur. I barely make it to the small sink in the back room of the flower shop before I’m gagging, knees buckling, one hand braced against chipped porcelain.
Nothing comes up at first, just pain, just heat, just that awful hollow churn that feels like my insides are folding in on themselves.
“Breathe,” I whisper to myself, forehead pressed to the cool surface. “Just breathe.”
I count, in, out, slowly, like the nurse taught me before we left the city. Like Aunty Tracy reminds me every morning when she watches me too closely, her eyes filled with concern she tries not to voice. The smell of soil and crushe
