NADIA’S POV
Something feels off, not loud or obvious, just there, sitting under everything like a weight I can’t shake, and I try to ignore it, I really do, because I’ve worked too damn hard to build something stable, something quiet, something that doesn’t feel like it’s about to fall apart every second.
But it doesn’t go away.
It follows me through the day, through the gallery, through conversations that should feel normal but don’t, because there’s this edge now, this strange pause in people’s voices, like they’re thinking twice before speaking, like they’re choosing their words too carefully and I hate that feeling.
I’m behind the counter when the first call comes in.
“Good afternoon, this is Nadia,” I say, keeping my voice steady even though something in my chest already tightens
