جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 60

POV: Claire Desmond The last three days have been a total fever dream. It’s like my life was a gritty psychological thriller that suddenly decided to reboot as a whimsical indie flick. My new routine hit me with the force of a subway train, and surprisingly, I’ve found my footing. At six a.m. sharp, my alarm shrieks from the corner of Shannon’s cramped Astoria rental. There’s no central air here, and the cloud-like embrace of my old King Koil mattress is a distant memory. Now, I have a thin, hundred-dollar foam pad that smells vaguely of lavender laundry detergent and broken dreams. As it turns out, it’s actually quite kind to my back. I take quick, lukewarm showers before heading out on the back of Shannon’s "Battle Hopper"—a rusted-out moped that screams in agony every time we hit a pothole on the way to Manhattan. City grit, the suffocatin

POV: Claire Desmond The scent of white musk and a hint of vanilla clung to the stagnant air of Shannon’s spare room. I stood before a cracked mirror bolted to the drywall, tugging at the collar of an oversized flannel shirt. It was a loan from Shannon’s "vintage" collection—meaning the pile of clothes she hadn't washed in a week—since my usual work attire felt suffocatingly formal for tonight. I reached for a small spray bottle of cheap linen mist. Spritz. Spritz. “Cough! God, Claire, take it easy!” Shannon, sprawled across a futon while aggressively crunching on pretzels, bolted upright. She batted the air, her face twisted in a theatrical grimace. “Is that perfume or industrial-grade pesticide? You’re going to be a walking scent-bomb. Are you teaching a seven-year-old or trying to sedate her father?

POV: Claire Desmond Fourteen days. That was how long I’d been maintaining this ridiculous charade. By morning, I was the respectable preschool teacher at St. Jude’s, molding the minds of New York’s elite toddlers. By night? I was a private tutor-slash-playmate for the daughter of a SoHo cafe owner. Strangely, the suffocating awkwardness that used to paralyze me every time I buzzed the door to this second-floor sanctuary had vanished. I used to feel like a trespasser in a world far too polished for my crumbling life. Now? Stepping into the Hamilton penthouse felt like coming home to a secret I wasn't ready to share with the rest of Manhattan. I closed Alana’s workbook with a decisive thud. "Alright, Princess. Session’s over. And take a look at this..." I tapped the test paper on the mahogany table. A bold '90' was scrawled in red ink, decorate

POV: Claire Desmond The food arrived, and the table became a chaotic spread of Shannon’s gluttony and Alana’s excitement. As we ate, the atmosphere softened. Shannon and Alana were surprisingly on the same wavelength, debating the lore of My Little Pony as if it were a geopolitical crisis. Unconsciously, I shifted into 'Teacher Mode.' I looked at Alana’s plate. Her sliders were too big for her to manage without making a mess. Without thinking, I picked up a knife, pulled her plate toward me, and sliced the meat into neat, bite-sized pieces. Then, I reached over and gently wiped a smudge of sauce from the corner of her lip with a napkin. "Eat slowly, honey. You’ll get the hiccups," I said softly. "Thanks, Ms. Claire," Alana chirped, flashing a gap-toothed grin. I set the napkin down, only

POV: Claire Desmond Splat! Her elbow caught the edge of one of the orange juice glasses. The glass tipped over with agonizing slowness. A wave of bright orange liquid surged across the folding table, soaking into the exercise book and cascading over the edge toward Gareth’s pristine rug. “Oh no!” I gasped. “Watch out!” Gareth’s voice sharpened with reflex. We both moved at the exact same millisecond. I lunged for the napkins on the right, and Gareth grabbed the cleaning cloth from the fruit tray. We dropped to our knees simultaneously in front of the table, desperate to dam the sticky tide before it ruined Alana’s perfect score. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Alana wailed, backing away and clutching her bear to her chest in a fit of sudden panic.