Tabitha’s POV The plastic handle of the bakery bag dug into my palm, but I didn’t care.I pushed through the glass doors of Saint Jude’s at seven in the morning, holding a large paper cup of dark roast in one hand and a canvas tote packed with clean clothes, wet wipes, and two sketchbooks for Natalie in the other.When I slipped into Room 412, the sight waiting for me made my chest squeeze with a stubborn ache.Bradley was still in the same clothes from yesterday. His gray hoodie was rumpled, his dark hair sticking up like he’d been running his hands through it all night, and the purple bruises of exhaustion under his eyes looked deep. He was hunched forward on that hard vinyl chair, rubbing his forehead with both thumbs.“Bradley,” I said softly, stepping inside.He jerked his head up, blinking hard against the morning light. The second his eyes found mine, the tight line of his shoulders dropped a little.“Tabby,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re here early.”“Someone had to make
Última actualización : 2026-11-05 Leer más