The Following Day.The early morning light filtered through the thin curtains of my childhood bedroom, painting faint streaks across the walls. I lay there staring up at the ceiling, my body heavy, my mind restless. It’s Thanksgiving. I should feel warmth, joy, anticipation. Instead, I feel dread. I stretched softly, a yawn escaping my throat. My eyes blinked against the dim light as I pushed myself upright, sitting on the bed. My hand rubbed gently across my eyes, trying to wipe away the heaviness that clung to me. My arm reached toward the small lamp on the nightstand. A single press, and the bulb flickered to life, flooding the room with warm light. I squinted, turning my head away, the brightness too sudden. My fingers found my phone beside me. The screen woke at my touch. “6:48,” I muttered, reading the time before dropping it back onto the bed. I stretched again, another yawn slipping through my lips, quieter this time. And then the memories from last night surged back
Last Updated : 2026-04-18 Read more