Lila’s P.O.V.
The community hall smelled of old varnish and yesterday’s coffee, but today the air tasted metallic, like blood on the tongue. I stood in the center aisle, hands clasped so tightly my nails bit crescents into my palms. Shayla, Lucas, and Aiden were safe with Diane—thank God for small mercies—but the weight of their absence pressed against my ribs anyway. Every breath felt borrowed.
Mr. Harlan rose again, slower than yesterday, as though the gravity of what he was about to say had settled into his bones. The room went still. Even the dust motes seemed to pause mid-flight.
“And hereby,” he said, voice low at first, then rising like a slow-building wave, “Lila Voss, you are divorced from Ethan Blackwood. From today you are no longer man and wife.”
A sound escaped me—small, i
