Diana
The next morning, I drag myself to work, feeling like I've aged a decade overnight. The constant state of fear and vigilance is taking its toll, etching worry lines into my face and dimming the light in my eyes. As I push open the diner door, the familiar scent of coffee and bacon wraps around me, a small comfort in my tumultuous world.
Ellen is already there, her warm smile faltering as she takes in my haggard appearance. Her brow furrows with concern, and I can see the question forming on her lips before she even speaks.
"Diana, honey," she starts, her voice gentle, "how's the apartment search going?"
I feel a pang of guilt for the lie I'd told her yesterday, but it mixes with a surge of gratitude for her genuine concern. I shake my head, unable to meet her eyes. "Not great," I mumble, fiddling with my apron strings.
Ellen's frown deepens. "No luck at all?"
I sigh, deciding to be honest – or as honest as I can be without revealing the terrifying truth of my situation. "Even if
