Amber
By the time the cab rolled to a stop in front of my house, I was hanging by a thread. My throat was raw, my eyes were puffy and sore from crying, and my head throbbed with the kind of ache that came from holding in sobs for too long. I couldn’t even pretend to feel okay anymore. All I wanted was to crawl into bed, bury myself under the covers, and disappear for a while—or maybe forever.
“Keep the change,” I muttered to the driver as I shoved a couple bills into his hand. My voice came out hoarse, brittle.
“Are you sure—” he started to ask, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.
“I’m sure,” I cut him off, already pushing the door open and stepping out onto the pavement.
My shoes felt heavy as I trudged up the path. Every part of me ached. Every step took effort. I didn’t eve
