Just lie down.
Sleep.
Forget.
I swung my legs onto the mattress and stretched out flat, arms at my sides. Stared at the ceiling like it might offer answers.
It didn't.
The silence pressed in. No hum of traffic. No distant voices. Just the faint creak of the building settling and my own breathing—too loud, too uneven.
I closed my eyes.
Olivia's face appeared immediately. Soft. Startled. Looking up at me in that parking lot like I was someone worth trusting.
My jaw clenched.
Stop.
But I couldn't. Her warmth beneath my fingertips. The strand of hair I'd brushed away. The way she hadn't pulled back when I'd touched her—just frozen there, breath catching, eyes wide and unguarded.
She'd let me. And I'd wanted more.
I rolled onto my side, dragging the pillow over my head like I could smother the thoughts. The apartment felt colder than usual. Empty in a way that scraped against my ribs.
I'd built this life to be alone. Chose it. Needed it.
So why did it suddenly feel unbearable?
My breathing slowed. Exhaustion dragged at the edges of my mind, pulling me under despite the guilt still twisting in my chest.
One last thought surfaced before sleep claimed me, clear and damning.
I'd crossed a line tonight. And I wanted to cross it again.
Chapter 13
Olivia
I woke late, tangled in sheets that felt too heavy. My alarm had been going off for ten minutes before I registered the sound—shrill and insistent, dragging me out of dreams that left my chest tight and my throat dry.
Nightmares. Again.
I slapped the phone silent and sat up, head pounding. The apartment was too bright—sunlight streaming through the cheap curtains I kept meaning to replace. I checked the time and swore under my breath.
Twenty minutes to catch the bus. My beat-up Honda barely made it back last night, and there was no way I was risking driving it to work. Not until I could get it fixed.
If I could.
My body moved on autopilot—stumbling to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face, yanking my hair into a messy ponytail. The mirror showed dark circles under my eyes and skin too pale, but I didn't have time to care.
I grabbed my phone off the nightstand. No missed calls. No texts from unknown numbers. No voicemails.
Relief flickered through me, fragile and unconvincing. Marsha's warning still echoed in the back of my mind, heavy and inescapable. Your father is being released.
But nothing had happened. Not yesterday. Not last night. Not this morning.
Maybe I had time. She had said the process could take three weeks. Maybe he didn't know where I was. Maybe?—
