I collapsed onto Kylie’s pristine white chaise lounge, the torrent of tears having drained every last ounce of strength from my body. I felt hollowed out, reduced to nothing more than a ragged, shivering shell. The sophisticated dress I wore—the one I had put on to celebrate a victory—now felt like a costume for a funeral.
Kylie didn't hover, thank God. She simply sat beside me, placing a hand on my back and stroking my hair, letting the tidal wave of grief wash over me without judgment. The only sound in the room was the harsh, broken rhythm of my sobs, slowly giving way to choked, silent shudders.
After what felt like an eternity, the tears finally stopped. I was numb, my eyes burning, my head throbbing with a dull, persistent ache. I sat up, pushing the damp hair away from my face.
