The apartment felt different after I came back from my parents' house.
Not emptier.
It had already been empty for weeks.
Different.
The conversation in their kitchen had stripped away the last pieces of energy I had been using to pretend everything was fine. For months, I had carried secrets, excuses, and half-truths. I had spent so much time convincing other people I was okay that I had almost convinced myself. Sitting at that table and finally saying everything out loud had changed something. The problems were still there. The eviction notice was still sitting on the counter. My bank account was still nearly empty. Grady was still gone. But now there was no hiding from any of it. The truth had been spoken, and I could not shove it back into a dark corner where it couldn't hurt me. Th
