MIA
Humiliation burns beneath my skin like a fever. I can’t believe I broke down like that—right there, in front of my boss. And the worst part? He knows everything now. One moment I sat across from Brad Turner, and the next… I was spilling every detail about my mother. The very thing I didn’t want—the pity—was there, flickering in his eyes. I saw it. I felt it. And I hated it.
Then, in a voice far softer than I ever imagined he possessed, he said, “Go home, Mia. Take the rest of the day. I’ll call you later.”
Home. What home?
My mother’s place isn’t a home anymore—it’s a mausoleum of memories. Every corner mocks me with ghosts of her laughter, her health, her life before it all crumbled. Being alone there feels like drowning with no one to pull me up.
God, I wish I knew my father. Ma
