Zane's car taillights faded down the road like two burning wounds shrinking into distance. The glow lingered in Willow's eyes, imprinting itself like a bruise she couldn't blink away.
Willow stood frozen on the driveway. Her back to Zane's disappearing car. Her spine felt locked in place, as if every muscle refused to move without his permission.
She didn't even hear the gravel beneath her shoes.
The world had gone muffled, distant, like she was trapped underwater.
Didn't feel the wind.
Cold air skimmed her skin, but her nerves didn't fire.
Didn't breathe.
Her lungs simply forgot how.
Her brain was trying to process too many things at once—Zane's face when he saw the tutu on the ground, the way he looked at her stomach, the devastation carved into every line of his body, the way he whispered her name like it was a plea and a memory and a goodbye all at once.
Each image slammed into her like a blow, too fast, too heavy, too cruel to absorb.
