The next morning, I stayed in bed longer than usual, clutching my blanket like it was some sort of emotional support. I hadn’t seen Mr. Thorne since the incident yesterday, and I wasn’t in a hurry to change that. I didn’t want to risk running into him and seeing that expression on his face again—the carefully blank one that somehow managed to scream, This woman is f*****g insane.
“Why couldn’t the ground just swallow me whole?” I groaned, turning over and burying my face into the pillow.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I grabbed it, expecting Anya’s name to flash on the screen. Instead, it was a message from Mr. Thorne.
Mr. Thorne: Leaving for a meeting today. Might be back late.
Short. To the point. No unnecessary words. Classic Mr. Thorne.
It was a relief, honestly. Him being
