Chapter 7: The Grand Feast… Almost Ruined by Me!
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"Why the hell are you screaming?!" I yelled back, but then froze mid-sentence, my face twisting into confusion.
"Shit…"
Shit… My breath caught as the sight in front of me hit me like a slap. My words got stuck in my throat. Holy shit! P'Ya… again?!
She was there—with her friends. Every single one of us stood frozen like idiots. None of us dared to move. Even if we wanted to, our legs wouldn't budge, as if rooted to the ground.
I turned to my friends in desperation.
"Should we just jump in the water? Can any of you swim?"
Jan cut in sharply, his tone dry.
"If you wanna swim, go ahead. I'm cutting through the garden!"
We stood there in stunned silence, caught between fear and stupidity, and before we could even think of a plan, P'Ya and her friends were already standing right in front of us.
"I'm so screwed… so damn screwed…" My face was a mess, Jan looked just as wrecked, and my hair was sticking up like I'd just fought a storm.
P'Ya's sharp gaze swept over us, cold enough to raise goosebumps.
"What on earth happened here? Explain. In detail. Now."
"Omg…" My voice came out weak, pathetic.
"Uh… we were just… cooking, ma'am."
The others quickly jumped in, nodding like bobbleheads.
"Yeah, yeah, just cooking."
Her glare sharpened like a blade.
"Then why didn't you call the servants to help?!"
My whole body screamed to run, but I couldn't. My legs were stiff from standing too long, throbbing with pain. I nudged Jan's arm with my elbow, begging for backup, then shot desperate signals to the rest of the group.
James offered a crooked smile.
"We just rushed into cooking right away, didn't think about it…"
But P'Ya's eyes never left me. I swallowed hard and gave a tiny signal—get ready to run.
And just when I tried to take my first step—bam. A cramp shot up my leg, biting down like hellfire.
"Don't leave me behind! My leg's cramped—fuck, it hurts!"
Everyone who had already bolted stopped and rushed back. P'Ya and the others came closer as I collapsed, clutching my leg. A guy—I swear I'd locked eyes with him before—rushed to support me, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember his name.
I arched my back in pain, yelling at the top of my lungs.
"Jan! Don't leave me—ahhh!!"
Jan dropped down, grabbed my leg and pressed hard.
"Don't move! I got this!"
My cries were embarrassingly loud, and felt like they'd never end.
After what felt like forever, the pain eased a little. P'Ya's voice softened, though her face was still stern.
"Better now?"
I answered in the weakest voice possible.
"Yeah… but… P'Ya, please, don't tell Mom and Dad…"
My friends jumped in, helping smooth things over, trying to calm the storm. P'Ya's expression slowly shifted—from terrifying to something warmer, more caring… or at least, I hoped.
She sighed, then gave us a lecture sharp enough to sting. Her tone made me shrink, my head ducking low. I blinked rapidly, pitifully, hoping she'd stop scolding.
After a while, she finally softened. She stepped forward and pulled me into a gentle hug.
"Next time, just tell me, okay? I worry about you. What if something happens?"
Her eyes held genuine care, so warm it cut deeper than her scolding. Guilt twisted in my chest, heavy and raw.
One of her beautiful friends stepped forward, voice sweet and curious.
"So… what did you all make, then?"
Like excited kids showing off homework, we rushed to bring out the food, proud and grinning. But while everyone's attention was on the dishes, I couldn't shake the feeling—someone's eyes were fixed on me. Watching. Studying. Like a detective observing prey.
Dinner ended, everyone eventually drifted off. I, exhausted from the day's madness, stuffed my face, washed up, and threw myself into bed. Tomorrow, I'd have to help prepare for the big event at home.
When I closed my eyes, sleep dragged me under fast.
And then came the dream.
Unlike the random nonsense I usually saw, this one felt sharp. Real. I found myself walking along an unfamiliar path until I stood before an old house's door. From inside, a shrill voice stabbed through my ears.
"She stole P'Theer from me first!
"Warun, calm down!"
That was P'Ya's voice, trying to break up the chaos. But the shrill screaming only grew louder.
"No! Tonight, P'Theer is dancing with me!"
The shout was followed by a girl yanking someone away from a man. Another voice cut through.
"Warun, I told you to stop!"
The tone made my chest ache faintly.
But something about the dream was… wrong. My hearing suddenly dulled, my ears buzzing. Their words blurred until I couldn't make them out anymore. It felt like I was watching my own past, like a ghost peering in.
I saw myself.
Tears welled in my past self's eyes, despair written all over my face. But it wasn't me who mattered.
It was her.
The one I'd yelled at earlier—she was crying behind that man. Crying… and smiling faintly at the same time. A crooked smile, sly and chilling.
What the—?!
I knew right away. I'd been played. Manipulated. My past self twisted into some villain, raging like a wild monkey losing control.
The crying girl collapsed onto the floor.
My chest clenched—this wasn't just a dream. Something was happening here. Something real.
Before I could think, anger boiled over. I sprinted out from the doorway and lunged at the man.
"You slimy bastard!" I roared, eyes blazing as I hurled myself at him.
And then—
I woke up.
Gasping for breath, heart hammering. My body still trembling with leftover rage and confusion. Just a dream. But it clung to me like claws, leaving me restless, unsettled.
P'Theer.
That man was Theer.
P'Theer… the guy I secretly liked back then?
And the other man—who the hell was he?
My mind spun with questions. My gut screamed one thing: I should stay far away from that sweet-faced guy. Something about him felt dangerous.
But another thought gnawed at me.
Was P'Theer… the same man I kept seeing in these dreams?
I shook my head, refusing to feed that hope. The Theer in my dream was cold, detached.
Pushing the thoughts away, I rolled out of bed. Time to shower. Tonight, the house was hosting a grand party, and everyone would be busy. Yesterday, I'd already asked the servants to bring food over to my place, since I wasn't eating at the main house.
So, after washing up, dressing, and eating, I slipped out to explore a little.
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The late morning sun poured over the dusty courtyard beside the main house. The sweet aroma of fresh banana leaves and freshly ground curry spices drifted lazily on the breeze. The rhythmic pounding of chili in a stone mortar clashed with the soft laughter of servants seated around, chopping vegetables beneath the eaves.
Female servants wore patterned silk skirts and light cotton blouses, some wrapping cloths around their heads to keep the sweat at bay, others tucking handkerchiefs into their waists. They scurried busily from the back kitchen to the front, hands full with baskets of vegetables, aluminum bowls of flour, homemade soy milk containers, and stacks of cups and bowls laid out neatly on long wooden trays.
Under the house's raised platform, two male servants were assembling low tables for the food offerings, while a middle-aged man in a dark loincloth and Mandarin-collared shirt chopped firewood with a rhythmic crack. Nearby, large clay pots sat in a row, ready to be lit. The ground beneath their feet was slightly damp from washing vegetables, filling the courtyard air with the scent of soil, banana leaves, and faint smoke.
In the side kitchen, the head cook, a middle-aged woman, stood sweeping her gaze over all the helpers, shouting her instructions clearly.
"Don't put chili paste in the pomelo salad! I told you, the master can't eat spicy!"
A small girl plucking sprigs of mint looked up and hurriedly nodded before whispering to her neighbor and breaking into a quiet giggle.
The commotion blended with the heavy footsteps of workers carrying baskets of flowers toward the front, petals of marigolds, zinnias, and red-and-white lotuses fluttering slightly in the breeze.
On the terrace, two elderly women strung garlands meticulously, their long thread draped across brass trays. Fresh jasmine petals from the backyard filled a small bowl, mingling with the aroma of pandan leaves used to line the trays.
Little children, mischievous sons of the servants, ran about under the house, squealing and laughing, occasionally scolded by the older helpers sweeping the yard.
"Pin! Don't run across the mats! You'll stir up dust!"
At the front, a handsome young man in a deep navy silk loincloth and pristine white hemp shirt walked inspecting the arrangements, his voice calm yet commanding. Every movement prompted the household to bustle and adjust. No one stayed still for more than a few moments.
Above the house, faint strains of Thai music from a three-stringed saw echoed as a female servant practiced, blending with the laughter and shouts from the cooks and the gentle hum of daytime insects. The old house seemed alive, vibrant, and strangely warm in the chaos of preparation.
At the rear of the house, male and female servants hurried to set the food. The mixed scents of savory Thai dishes mingled with faint buttery aromas from the Western kitchen tucked in another corner. The atmosphere was hectic yet appetizing.
Traditional Thai dishes were arranged on brass trays—spicy, aromatic chicken curry with spices heavy enough to scent the terrace, pomelo salad mixed perfectly with just enough heat, shrimp paste chili jam with crispy fried catfish on banana leaves for a refreshing contrast.
Next to them, servants helped prepare chilled rice dishes. Cooked rice was washed, cooled, and placed into small ceramic pots. The fragrance of jasmine mingled with scented candle smoke, alongside sweet mango salad and stir-fried preserved radish set beside the plates.
In the Western kitchen corner, the scent of melting butter and coarsely minced garlic filled the air. A middle-aged chef in a white uniform carefully tended a clear fish consommé. Nearby, a small stove seared black pepper steaks—beef rubbed with crushed pepper, cooked in butter until the crust was lightly charred. The pungent aroma was unmistakably Western, though the household was well accustomed thanks to the young master's preference.
Freshly baked French baguettes were arranged in woven baskets, partially covered with white cloth to keep them soft. Inside lay salted butter and homemade mango jam from the backyard, ready to be served.
Thai desserts held their own—taro dumplings in hot coconut milk in porcelain bowls, sticky rice with shrimp custard arranged on small golden trays, and colorful layered steamed cakes lined up like miniature carpets.
Everything was prepared in a blend of cultures—brass utensils, French porcelain, traditional Thai earthenware, and some placed on woven bamboo trays for easy serving. Cold items, like shaved ice with calamansi juice or handmade coconut ice cream, were handled by male servants turning ice churns, sweat glinting on their cheeks, yet spirits high because the event would begin in just a few hours.
Wow, they were really going all out.
After sneaking around to observe, I found Jan coming over like she did every day.
The afternoon sun tilted over the house, casting cool shadows beneath the high wooden pavilion. The soft clink of spoons against plates blended with our laughter as Jan and I lingered over a slow lunch. A gentle breeze from the river carried the scent of pandan leaves boiling with jasmine from the kitchen, tickling my nose intermittently.
Even after finishing, neither of us moved. We leaned back against the pillar, chatting lazily, while the household had grown used to the scene. No one intervened—they all knew Jan and I were "as we are" and had been together long enough that appearances didn't matter.
As evening approached, shadows stretched across the yard. A young male servant hesitated at the terrace, fidgeting as if he wanted to speak but didn't dare.
"Khun Warun… uh… the young lady sent word… it's time to get dressed."
I glanced at the pale-faced young man, uncertain whether I should manage the dressing myself or wait for assistance. I offered a faint smile and nodded, letting him go.
"Thanks. I'll handle it myself."
He nodded quickly and retreated.
I looked to Jan. She caught my glance, rose, and brushed her skirt as she stood beside me.
"Let's go. Inside, we'll get your outfit and hair ready."
The servant hesitated briefly but complied.
I would dress myself since I planned to wear the outfit Jan and I had bought previously, while Jan brought her clothes to change there. Normally, a man and woman entering a house together was improper in old Thailand, but we were so familiar that no one cared. Besides, Jan liked women anyway.
I carefully unfolded the deep blue tweed suit jacket. We had bought it last month at a tailor's shop in the foreign quarter. The jacket fit my shoulders perfectly, the collar slightly folded. Beneath it, I wore a thin cream linen shirt with tiny pearl buttons down the front, paired with light gray linen trousers with subtle pleats, modestly elegant without being flashy.
Jan, in another corner, was changing into a European-style satin dress. Light peach-pink, with slight pleats at the chest, small puffed sleeves, and a skirt falling below her knees. A golden-green belt around her waist matched her art-deco earrings.
Once dressed, I stood before a large carved wooden mirror. My face hadn't changed from the morning, but in the full outfit, I looked surprisingly mature.
The golden-edged clear perfume bottle felt cool in my hand. I spritzed lightly on my wrists, along my neck, and behind my ears — the fragrance rising slowly into the air.
It wasn't just any rose scent. It was deep and mysterious, a soft haze of French Rose Centifolia, damp, earthy Oakmoss like hidden forest shadows, and a faint, warm touch of Eastern Benzoin resin.
It wasn't sharp, but it lingered, pulling at memories in the warm afternoon light. I caught my reflection in the mirror again.
"Ready, I guess…" I whispered to my own shadow.
Behind me, Jan gave a playful nudge to my shoulder.
"Let's go. Time to shine," she said, her voice carrying that mischievous sparkle I had come to know so well.
I chuckled softly, nodding, and together we stepped out — elegant, composed, modern… yet somehow trapped in the past.
Just before we reached the door, Jan froze, her gaze fixed on my back as I moved toward the front yard.
She stood there on the wooden steps, skirt swaying in the afternoon breeze. Her eyes weren't playful as usual; they held something heavier, like someone carrying a burden for far too long.
"I… I really gotta pee," she finally admitted, breaking the silence.
I leaned against the wooden post, arms crossed, listening.
"Then I'll wait," I said, trying to sound calm.
I watched in a quiet daze as she slipped inside for a moment. Soon, hurried footsteps echoed from the side stairs, followed by a flustered house servant's voice.
"Khun Warun, Khun Nipa! All the guests are here! Lord Khun has sent word—"
Before he could finish, Jan and I exchanged a split-second glance, then shouted in unison, "Shit!!" and bolted down the steps.
Our skirts and the tails of my jacket whipped in the bright afternoon sun as we ran along the brick path, past frangipani and jasmine trees bending under the wind, confused by this sudden human storm.
"I told the servants it was afternoon! What time is it now?" I complained, catching my breath.
"You said afternoon, but forgot 'ancient Thai time'! Their afternoon is three PM!" Jan groaned.
"Shit…" I muttered, realizing our timing was off.
We finally reached the front pavilion, pausing to straighten our hair and garments, fighting the breeze.
Before stepping into the event, Jan and I shared another glance. No laughter, no teasing this time — just eyes that said… we were ready.
Ready to face the crowd.
Ready to confront a past that hadn't fully faded.
Ready to walk in a world that wasn't ours — and make it ours anyway.
The first step into the main hall, and soft strings from a live ensemble swelled gently, as if acknowledging our arrival.
Not traditional Thai music, not purely Western either — a sophisticated blend. Piano and violin mingled with a hint of ranad (Thai xylophone), soft yet carrying a subtle, elite refinement.
The air was heavy with the scent of Thai flowers — jasmine, frangipani, gardenia — arranged in large Benjarong (Thai porcelain) vases scattered across the pavilion.
Beside them, a long buffet table gleamed, glass jars lined with gold rims, filled with sweet delicacies, chilled rice, and pastries scented with vanilla, reflecting a Thai-Portuguese hybrid culinary tradition.
Guests shimmered in elegant attire. Some wore modernized Thai Chakri-style outfits with pleated skirts, others donned light, fluffy French lace dresses. Men sported perfectly tailored Western suits, hair parted and combed with mirror-like precision.
Even without direct gazes, Jan and I felt eyes on us. Polite, discreet glances that lingered long enough to memorize patterns and buttons.
We approached Ton's family. His parents were chatting with other distinguished guests, including a noble family whose matron wore a pearl-colored silk gown, puffed like lotus petals.
Jan and I joined our palms in a traditional wai bow, precise and graceful enough to impress any etiquette teacher.
"Hello," we said, voices soft, ASMR-level gentle, completely natural.
Ton's father smiled warmly. I felt a pang of guilt for ever doubting him. He complimented my attire, then looked to Jan with fond amusement, nearly melting her on the spot.
After completing our bows to the elders, we smoothly retreated from the crowd.
Jan leaned in, whispering, eyes darting sideways.
"Check out that noble lady. The fan moves, but her eyes are pinning me down — three times already."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Did you step on her foot?" I asked flatly.
Jan rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, and it's your fault! I walked on the carpet!"
Before we could argue further, three figures appeared, cutting through the crowd — James in a gray suit with a thick leather briefcase scent lingering, Thomas with his crooked necktie begging for adjustment, and Maria in a pastel blue dress, flowing elegantly, turning a few heads among the ladies.
Jan nudged me and smiled.
"There they are," she whispered.
We were finally all together. Outside, it would have been chaotic. Inside, the gazes tracking us were peculiar. I didn't care much, though, scanning the room subtly for someone — not Theer, but the sweet-faced young man from my old memories.
I told myself to be cautious, yet I wanted a glimpse. I couldn't explain it — in dreams, he brought stress and resentment. I suspected this was a memory from the past, not the present, but still, something about him felt wrong.
A wine glass tapped sharply. Not anyone else — my father, initiating the formal welcome. The live music rose. People began to dance.
I spotted a rival group staring daggers at us. I raised a middle finger once — they burst out laughing. Thomas looked confused. I knew they wouldn't understand; after all, I was in the past. A clever gesture, an invisible jab.
Then my eyes landed on Theer. Honestly, I kept questioning: was he the same as in my dream? That cold, detached aura threw me off. I flinched slightly when he glanced back at me.
I turned away. Maria spoke up, asking if we were going to dance.
Jan and I exchanged a look, then glanced at Thomas.
"Seriously?" I asked.
James piped up, "I'm going to play the violin. You'll dance to my performance, alright?"
⸻
And then it hit me—it wasn't a request, it was a trap.
I shrugged back like, "Fine then." Inside, my brain was screaming, Did you even ask if I knew how to dance, you idiot? But if you dared to challenge me, I'd dare to dance.
The first song ended. The dancers on the floor froze in a graceful pose. The guests clapped politely, but with a clear trace of admiration. James stepped forward to the center of the floor, one hand holding the violin, the other raising the bow. The music fell silent, leaving only the soft click of someone's heels passing over the carpet.
"Thank you, everyone… Now, we have another surprise for you…"
His Thai pronunciation was so sharp and clear that James even glanced for a mic, because he was speaking aloud, louder than the sound system.
Some guests clapped, others tilted their heads curiously, and all eyes turned to us—four frozen jelly figures in the middle of the floor.
As soon as James's violin played again, accompanied by the musicians hitting every chord perfectly, the semi-classical, semi-showpiece music surged into every sense like a downpour right before quitting time.
Thomas and I stepped into the center with Maria and Jan.
The guests, who had initially expected only music, now stared at us with wide eyes, as if seeing free goodies at a convenience store.
We bowed lightly to our partners and then started moving our feet in a basic pattern—at least basic in my head. My foot nearly stepped on Thomas's coat, but he dodged like he had a radar.
I looked up into his eyes, silently asking, What do I do? Thomas leaned in, whispering beside my ear, his voice soft like a hotel towel in a five-star suite.
"Just move with the music. And if you don't know what you're doing… copy me."
I followed immediately, without thinking, sweat streaming down my back like a broken air conditioner.
Maria and Jan on the other side seemed to have learned ballroom somewhere—spinning and twirling.
The atmosphere picked up. Everyone watched with amused, half-expecting smiles, wondering if this group would survive.
I glanced at Khun Theer, standing in the corner.
…His eyes were cold, face blank, expressionless—like, what the hell, dude?
Seriously, I'm just dancing a little here. Why does he look like I'm stealing ad space on his forehead?
I turned back just in time, trying to continue while my brain substituted "sway your hips" for the actual melody.
The floor vibrated, James's violin stretching like it was dueling the other musicians. The four of us spun, half-misaligned, half-perfect, and the crowd began murmuring in excitement.
Even with our clumsy steps, it looked intentional enough that someone chuckled softly from the corner of the room.
The final note of the dance piece hit perfectly, as if the entire world paused for this scene. Applause erupted throughout the room. Warm lights from above traced along hair, lace, and my sweat-streaked temples, yet my smile remained polite.
We bowed in perfect unison. The soft scrape of leather shoes on the polished floor was followed by waves of applause and murmurs of admiration.
James held the violin to his chest, grinning like a kid with a new toy, his voice brimming with excitement, still unused to praise.
"Thank you all for this beautiful moment… Especially to my friends who dared to dance with me. I owe you one!"
A tiny laugh followed among the gentle clapping.
I looked at Jan and Maria, smiling. Sweat dripped from my jawline just enough to glisten, my eyes still flickering with unspent fire.
"Honestly… I only learned to dance a bit in high school ballroom. A few sessions, that's it. The rest? All movies," I said softly, still catching my breath, adrenaline lingering.
Jan scrunched her face.
"Well, that's better than me. I only dance when the Ovaltine box opens," she muttered, and we all chuckled softly.
Soft lights continued to spill across the room as guests gradually drifted to different corners.
Thomas went to talk to a middle-aged man who looked like a father figure. James chatted with the senior music teacher. Maria stood slightly beside me, with Jan near her.
Then, everything froze in a heartbeat…
The deliberate click of leather heels hit the stone floor. A sharp perfume wafted ahead of the person—an old rose mixed with alcohol spray—reaching before their feet even touched the carpet.
I turned slowly—muscles resisting, body bracing for impact.
And yes… they were here.
The group I dreaded meeting most in the world.
One tall man—nearly as tall as James, sharp features, eyes like a razor—not handsome, just sharp enough to cut through your chest.
Three women—
One tall and thin, hair deliberately styled in messy curls like a Parisian attempt gone wrong.
Another, tight-waisted and figure-hugging, dressed like a perfectly wrapped gift.
The last, shoulder-length bob, bleached gold, sly with eyeliner that made her eyes almost fly.
They lined up like they were attending a premiere.
"Long time no see, Warun…" The tall man's voice was icy, calm, yet piercing, the corner of his mouth twitching in a venomous smile.
I swallowed dryly, hair standing on end, hands clenching my pockets without realizing it.
"Still like to be the center of attention, I see," said the bob-haired woman, smirking with no genuine warmth.
"Just like before… thinking you were 'good enough' to perform, while all you had was luck… and your mother's connections."
The last sentence stabbed beneath my ribs—slow, deliberate.
"Heh… I remember you crying backstage because you forgot the moves in front of the adults, didn't you?" She giggled lightly, as if it were a joke.
"And when you had your costume tailored and went into debt, then had to pretend to be elegant at the party with a borrowed cloak from your teacher…"
Jan froze, her eyes darkening.
"…Shit… these guys…" she muttered, full of resentment, like a big sister ready to slap someone without asking their name.
Maria slowly raised her wine glass, arms crossed, eyes full of disdain.
"But you used to cry because no one asked you to dance. Today, you walk in like you own the event… impressive," said the gift-wrapped woman, eyeing Maria from head to toe.
A soft laugh from the other two followed, echoing and twisting Ray's nauseating memories.
I stood still—eyes slightly red in the reflection of wine glasses.
My lips moved slightly, as if to speak, then swallowed the words.
Hands clenched the hem of my coat so tightly the inner fabric wrinkled permanently.
Footsteps, soft violin music, and everyone's breathing faded into the blurred background. Only those words echoed in my head.
I glanced at Jan and Maria.
They were still there—standing in the same scene, unable to speak, waiting to see if I would fight back or let it pass.
But I chose neither.
…the insults hadn't even finished.
Jan moved irritably, lifting her wine glass, ready to step forward.
"You—"
"Jan," I said softly, but clearly enough to stop her fury.
I didn't even look back.
Just sent a gaze—red, shadowed, and sorrowful, mixed with a plea beyond words.
Eyes only Jan and Maria had seen before, on the days I was utterly broken.
Jan froze as if time had stopped.
Maria opened her mouth, then stayed silent—understanding everything without words.
In that instant… I conveyed everything without speaking.
I didn't want my friends to fight—not because I wasn't hurt.
But because I didn't want anyone else to get hurt on my behalf.
I stood still.
Breathing quietly.
Lips trembling, voice barely above a whisper:
"…Hold this for me…"
The tone was almost a whisper, hoarse but heart-wrenching.
"…I'll be back."
I turned my back—
and ran.
The tails of my coat flew with my steps.
Shoulders shaking slightly, hands clenched by my sides, eyes glistening like dew in the light.
Lips pressed tight, cheeks flushed as if I'd just cried.
Yet I forced a faint smile, tricking myself into believing this wasn't defeat.
Every step grew faster.
Footfalls echoed off the silent walls of the party—because no one dared to speak.
The moment I passed the door,
everything inside froze—leaving only the lingering scent of drama, bitter even through the wine.
The sharp clack of my shoes hit the gravel — clop, clop, clop — as I sped down the curving brick path that led to the garden behind the mansion.
Out there, it was dead quiet. A world away from the music, the lights, and the judging stares inside.
I came to a halt at a stone bench under a tall rain tree. The leaves swayed softly in the evening breeze as I collapsed down, hugging my knees tight like the whole damn world had just crashed on me.
My breath came fast. My shoulder twitched like I was holding back a sob. My hand shook as I pressed it over my mouth—
My eyes stung, red-rimmed, watery. My lips trembled like I was about to break down crying.
But what exploded out of me was—