ZEE.
The day before the Lawrence father gala, I should’ve been focusing on my dress, my hair, and whether or not I knew how to act like someone who belonged at a black-tie event.
But instead, all I could think about was Denver.
He hadn’t texted.
He hadn’t called.
He hadn’t shown up at school.
I’d told myself this would happen—that he might get hurt, might be angry, might pull away. And at first, I thought I could live with that. I thought I’d chosen peace, clarity, something that made sense.
But with each passing day, that peace felt more like a knot in my chest.
And now, I just needed to know if he was okay.
I reached for my phone for the tenth time that hour, staring at his contact. My thumb hovered over the call button. I hesitated.
Then I hit it.
It rang. And rang.
No answ
