The next two weeks passed in a fog.I went to work, came home, sat in my room. I ate when my mom reminded me, answered when people spoke to me, moved through the motions of being alive without actually feeling any of it.Mia checked on me constantly, texting, calling, showing up at my door with takeout and movies. I appreciated it, but I couldn’t bring myself to engage. Everything felt heavy, muted, like I was watching my life from behind a pane of glass.“He’s an idiot,” Mia said one night, sitting cross‑legged on my bed while I stared at the ceiling. “He’s going to realize what he lost, and he’s going to regret it.”“Maybe,” I said, my voice flat.“Ava.” She reached for my hand. “Talk to me. Please.”I looked at her—really looked at her—for the first time in weeks. Her eyes were worried, her brow furrowed, and I felt a pang of guilt for making her carry my pain.“I don’t know what to say,” I admitted. “I thought we were solid. I thought he loved me.”“He does love you. He’s just sca
Last Updated : 2026-04-02 Read more