Aspen The ride home from the hospital had been quiet. Clear drove, her hands steady on the wheel, her eyes occasionally flicking toward me with concern I tried not to acknowledge. My body felt heavier than it should have, my stomach fluttering in a way that made me press a hand against it and wonder if I could survive the next few hours without losing control.The confrontation with my mother had left me raw, exposed, and shaking. Every insult, every dismissive glance, every comment about Clear being the better daughter replayed in my head. I had yelled. I had forced the words out of me that I had carried for years, but the emotional toll was enormous. My muscles ached, my chest felt tight, and the fluttering in my stomach refused to settle.Clear’s hand brushed against mine once, soft and grounding. “Aspen, breathe,” she said gently. “We are almost home. Just a few minutes.”I nodded, forcing my lips into a smile I knew was weak. “I know. I’m okay,” I whispered, though even I did no
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