Echoes of a Closed Door

The following day, Kierra woke up tossing in Alex’s bed.

“Oh, god.”

Her head was pounding, but it wasn’t from a hangover. It was from shame, confusion, guilt—whatever cocktail of regret was crawling under her skin. She sat up, clutching the sheets to her chest, as if they could shield her from the reality of what she’d done.

He was nowhere to be found.

She scanned the room, its perfection only making her feel messier, heavier. Marble countertops. Cold floors. A leather chair angled just-so. A glass of water half-full, untouched. The absence of Alex wasn’t what bothered her—it was the silence.

She realized she’d opened a door she would never be able to close.

"I better get my shit together," she muttered to herself, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

The ring Kelly had given her—her mother’s ring—burned in her purse like a secret on fire.