Morning light poured through the window, way too bright. Too many voices were coming from outside, so I sat up fast. Caleb was still asleep in the chair by the door, fully dressed. I hadn’t closed my eyes all night. I glanced out the window and my stomach dropped like a stone. There had to be thirty people out there. Cameras, microphones, news vans lined up along the street. Reporters checking their phones, shifting on their feet, waiting. Caleb woke up, took one look at my face, and crossed the room in seconds. He peered outside and muttered, “Shit.” He pulled out his phone. The color drained from his face as he scrolled. Without saying a word, he turned the screen toward me, It was everywhere. Photos of the motel, Marcus and Clara leaving. Caleb standing in the parking lot, me frozen in the doorway. Video clips. Snippets of audio. Someone had recorded the entire fight…Clara slapping me, Caleb choosing me, every single word. There were close-ups of my face through the window. My n
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