LIAM
The drive to the airport is quiet. Not the comfortable kind of quiet — the kind that sits heavy in the air, making it hard to breathe.
Emilia shifts beside me, her fingers playing with the hem of her skirt. I can tell she wants to say something, but every time she glances my way, she looks down at her lap instead.
I tap my fingers against the steering wheel, debating whether to turn on the radio. Maybe music would make this less awkward. But before I can, I hear Emilia take a slow breath.
“You sleep okay?” I ask. My voice comes out rougher than I intended.
It’s such an awkward question. I don’t think I’ve ever even asked anyone this before.
She exhales a laugh, barely more than a breath. “Not really. You?”
“Same.”
Silence again.
A car honks somewhere behind us, breaking the tension for half a second. But the quiet settles back in, just as heavy as before.
I want to say more. Ask her if she’s been eating well, if she’s okay, if we’re okay. But the words knot in my throat,
