SERAFINA
There was something different about the way Amia knocked.
Like her knuckles didn’t actually want to make contact.
Three soft taps —
‘Click. Click. Click.’
each one slower than the last, like she kept changing her mind between them.
I opened the door anyway.
And there she was.
Hair tied a little too neatly. Not a single strand out of place. Even her baby hairs had been gelled down into submission, as if appearance could somehow compensate for betrayal.
Her purse strap was clenched in both fists, tight enough to leave red marks on her fingers. Like she was holding on to the last thread of courage she had — or maybe trying to stop her hands from shaking.
She didn’t smile.
Which was- kinda funny, considering Amia always smiled.
Even during arguments.
Especially during li
