Harper's POV
Even as I pick up my fork and begin to eat, my thoughts don’t change. The food disappears slowly from my plate, though I don’t remember tasting a single bite. I chew because it’s expected. I swallow because it fills the silence. And all the while, Mark talks beside me, his voice calm and casual, like nothing happened, like everything is fixed simply because he apologized and served dinner.
He tells me something about work, something about the car arriving early, something about us needing to celebrate soon and having a holiday. I nod at the right times. I give short responses when I have to. But I’m not really here.
Then he says my name.
“Harper.”
His voice cuts through the fog, and I blink slowly before glancing up at him. My plate is empty now. I must have finished ever
