CLAIRE ANDERSON
I don't sleep that night. The white card sits on my nightstand, his handwriting mocking me in the darkness, and I stare at it until the words blur into meaningless shapes. One week. The offer stands. I've replayed every moment of our interaction—his cold grey eyes, the sting of my palm against his cheek, the way he said I'd be back like he already knew I would break. He was right. He knew my desperation before I even admitted it to myself.
The morning light creeps through my window, pale and unforgiving, and I make my decision. My hands are shaking as I dress, as I walk to campus, as I stand outside his office door with my heart pounding in my throat. I've never felt more terrified in my entire life. Not when Greg left me at the airport. Not when I saw the flames consumi
