Mom didn’t sit down at first. She just stood there, her hand still on the doorknob, staring at me like she was trying to read every line on my face.
The silence pressed into my skin. I shuddered.
Finally, she walked closer and sat at the edge of my bed.
“Lyra, what happened last night?” And don't tell me nothing.
My stomach tightened.
Really, it's nothing, I was just tired.
No, she said firmly. You were crying.
My breath stalled, while my throat went dry.
You think I didn’t hear you? she continued, voice softening but still sharp enough to slice. I heard the sound you made. That wasn’t “tired,” Lyra, that was fear.
I swallowed, hard. I’m fine, Mom.
You’re not, she agitated.
She reached for my hand. I flinched without meaning to.
Her expression cracked.
Baby, what are you so sc
