Brace stared blankly at the living room wall of his apartment. The morning light filtered in through half-closed blinds, casting soft stripes across the untouched glass of water he had poured himself hours ago. The air felt heavy, weighted with the stench of betrayal and confusion. He hadn’t slept. Not since waking up next to Catherine.
He didn’t remember how the night had ended. Didn’t remember bringing her home. Didn’t remember the photos.
But they were there. All over the internet. All over Sabrina’s phone.
He’d tried calling her. Over and over. Texts. Voicemails. Even showed up outside her bakeshop once, only to find it locked early, with a handwritten note: Closed for the day.
But no reply ever came. Not even a single word. And maybe that silence said more than anything else.
Bra
