Chapter 10: You And Me
Reese
To be honest, I never expected Lauren to actually walk out the door for good. Not this time. Not ever, really.
We'd run this script so many times that it now felt scripted.
I'd snap at her to leave, get lost, go home, stop hovering. She'd grab her keys or her bag with dramatic flair, slam something on her way toward the exit, then—ten minutes, thirty, an hour later—she'd be back.
She'd be sitting on the couch or the bed, eyes puffy but defiant, waiting for me to cave, to pull her close, to mutter those dishonest words that reset the cycle.
So when I emerged from the bathroom, towel slung low, and found her still there—perched on the edge of the bed, arms folded so tightly her knuckles probably showed white—I felt only the dull thud of inevitability.
