Logan Reynolds
I step into the hallway, the weight of Viola’s words still blistering my chest like open flame.
“But I do hate you right now.”
“And I hate that I still love you enough for it to hurt this much.”
It echoes in my head like a bell that won’t stop ringing.
The fluorescent lights overhead buzz faintly as I move down the corridor, Missy’s tiny hand wrapped in mine. She’s quiet but I can’t blame her. She’s lost her mother. I’ve lost everything else.
I should have told Viola. I should’ve ripped the Band-Aid off and let the pain bleed instead of festering underneath lies.
But I didn’t.
Because I’m a coward.
We walk out into the early morning light. The sky is pale gray. The air carries the sting of yesterday’s rain and the bitter taste of failure. I lift Missy into the car seat the nurse helped me install earlier. She clutches a stuffed bear someone at the station gave her.
“Where’s Mommy?” she whispers.
I pause, my hands tightening around the belt buckle. I can’t answer. I phy
