Sooner or later—
everyone stopped believing you.
7
Tessa
By the time I reached the flower shop, I could barely get air into my lungs.
My hands shook so badly the keys slipped straight through my fingers the first time.
“Come on,” I whispered.
The metal scraped uselessly against the lock again.
My vision blurred.
The third try finally worked.
I shoved the door open and stumbled inside, slamming it shut hard enough to rattle the glass.
Silence crashed around me.
I pressed my back against the door and squeezed my eyes shut, dragging in one shaky breath after another.
But it didn’t help.
Because I could still hear him.
You look exactly like the girl who killed her best friend.
The words echoed louder now inside my own head.
I clamped my hands over my ears.
“Stop.”
My voice cracked.
“Just stop…”
But memory didn’t care what I wanted.
It came anyway.
Whispers in grocery stores.
People going quiet when I walked by.
Parents pulling their kids a little closer.
Like guilt could spread.
Like I was contagious.
A broken sound caught in my throat.
“No,” I whispered fiercely, pushing away from the door. “No. We’re not doing this again.”
