I force myself to leave the house because hiding is starting to feel like a different kind of suffocation.
The cupboards are nearly empty. The milk smells wrong. The excuses I have been using with Linda are thinning out, just like everything else.
“I can go,” she says from the kitchen doorway, keys already in her hand. She tries to sound casual. She fails. “You do not have to.”
“I do,” I answer too fast. The word comes out sharp enough that we both flinch.
She studies my face for a second, reading the truth I am not saying. Then she nods. “All right. Call me if you need me.”
I do not promise that I will.
I grab my bag and step outside before I can change my mind.
The air feels different the moment I leave the property. Heavier. Like the land itself knows I am exposed now. I square m
