Chapter 67

When I got to my apartment, the apartment is dark when I step inside, but it doesn't feel empty.

It feels heavy.

Like someone else's presence lingers in the air, thick and suffocating.

Then I see her.

My mother is sitting at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a ceramic mug. Steam curls from the tea inside, but she isn't drinking it. She's waiting.

For me.

Her gaze lifts, sharp and knowing, locking onto mine.

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

I let out a short, breathless laugh, but it's hollow. The past twenty-four hours have been a nightmare. I should be used to it by now. Should be numb to the way my life keeps spiraling out of my control.

But I'm not.

And the worst part?

I don't know if I want to be.

I step toward the table, my legs suddenly weak. I want to pretend I'm fine. That nothing Michael said got to me. That Alex's confession didn't carve a deep, ugly hole inside my chest.