Clara Bennett
“I’m fine,” I called out through the bathroom door, my voice sounding weak even to my own ears. “Really, Ryder. I just need a little more time.”
There was a long pause on the other side. I could almost picture him standing there, running a hand through his hair like he always did when he was worried.
He let out a deep breath, the sound heavy and tired. “Alright. I’ll make some hot cocoa for you. Take it easy on yourself, Clara. You’ve been through hell.”
Then his footsteps faded away down the hallway. He didn’t push. He never really did.
I let out a short, bitter laugh that echoed off the tiled walls. Take it easy? How the hell was I supposed to do that? My mom was gone.
Victor was out there playing the grieving hero on every news channel while I was here falling apart
