Eliana didn't move at first. Her slender frame stood frozen, every muscle taut as Sarai's confession poured over her like acid rain, reopening wounds she thought had scarred long ago. Each word dragged her back—to the nights she'd curled up alone, convinced she wasn't enough; to the trust she had handed over like fragile glass, now lying in shards at her feet.
She looked down at Sarai, the once-beloved friend kneeling in designer silk, mascara streaking down her face, the very picture of remorse. For a moment, the sight threatened to crack her. But something deeper stirred—something forged in the fire of her past. The strength that had carried her through her father's illness, the resilience that had steadied her after her mother walked away—it rose like steel in her chest.
Eliana drew in a slow breath, her fingers slipping from Sarai's desperate grip. Her voice, when it came, was steady, controlled, but laced with an ache so deep it could cut bone. "Sarai… get up. Please."
