EVELYN
If I ran, I would unarguably look suspicious. Like I had something to hide, which, let’s be honest, I did. And even if no one had said it aloud, I could feel the judgment brewing just beneath the surface. Running would’ve been a silent confession. But staying still… staying still felt like wearing guilt like perfume.
What truly made it worse was that I hadn’t picked up his calls. Not once. Not even a single, half-hearted attempt at a response. No I have gotten home or something, not even a sad-face emoji to buy me some time. My phone had lit up so many times with his name.
It wasn’t just about avoiding the confrontation. It was fear. Fear that my voice would crack. That if I opened my mouth, my guilt would spill out, and soak everything I’d tried to keep clean. So I held back. Swallowed my replies and hid in my silence.
But silence never saves you. It only delayed the reckoning.
Mom’s voice kept echoing in my mind like a haunting lullaby. Her voice was sticky, clinging to the
