Chapter 12: Two Rooms Apart
The car ride home was silent.
Florida sat with her hands folded tightly in her lap, her broken heel hidden beneath the hem of her gown. The warmth from Bryant's presence beside her didn't reach her skin.
He didn't look at her once.
When they arrived, the front doors opened for them, and staff lined the hallway with rehearsed bows and stiff smiles.
Bryant didn't speak a word. He walked ahead.
Florida followed, her steps slow and uneven.
She felt the eyes on her. The whispered pity. The silent judgment.
Upstairs, they reached the hallway that split in two directions — his room to the left. Hers to the right.
Bryant paused.
For a moment, it seemed like he might say something. His hand hovered near his tie, then fell to his side.
Florida waited.
He glanced at her — brief, unreadable.
Then he turned left without a word.
His footsteps echoed until the door shut behind him.
Florida stood alone in the corridor, the silence settling around her like dust.
She turned and walked to her room.
Once inside, she kicked off her shoes and sat at the edge of the bed. Her foot throbbed where the heel had bruised her skin.
She pulled the emerald gown over her head and folded it neatly, setting it on the chair.
Then she reached for the small balm on her nightstand and gently rubbed it against her ankle. It stung.
She didn't cry.
She hadn't cried in weeks.
She laid down on the bed, arms crossed over her chest, staring at the ceiling.
> Two rooms apart.
Two worlds between them.
And not a single word left to bridge either.
Outside her window, the wind shifted.
No rain tonight.
Just quiet.
Too much quiet.
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End of Chapter 12
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