Sonia’s POV I didn’t know how long I walked. The rain had started softly at first, like it was unsure whether it wanted to fall, but soon it poured with a cruelty that matched the ache in my chest. It soaked my hair, my clothes, my skin, yet none of it felt as heavy as the weight pressing against my heart. I walked anyway. No destination. No direction. Just forward. Every step felt unreal, like my body was moving without my permission. My shoes splashed through puddles, water seeping in, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. If I stopped, I would think. And if I thought, I would break. This isn’t real, I kept telling myself. This didn’t happen. But it had. The house. Clinton’s eyes. The slap, not across my face, but across my soul. The words that cut deeper than any blade. The way Margaret had looked at me with confusion and pain. And Bailey, standing there, calm, prepared, triumphant. The person I trusted most. The person who held my hand when I cried on her couch. The person
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