NICK
For the next twenty minutes, I sat there playing my part to perfection. I answered my father's questions about the hospital, listened to Mr. Lee talk about the real estate market, nodded along as my mother praised Yuna's outfit, and offered smooth, intelligent comments whenever the conversation drifted my way.
It was second nature to me. I had been performing this exact role for twenty years, the brilliant, respectful, perfect older son who never made a misstep, never brought embarrassment to the family, and always said the right thing at the right time.
Normally, I didn't mind it. It was easy. It gave me a sense of control.
But tonight, with sixty hours of exhaustion sitting in my bones and Cyan's quiet, empty face haunting the back of my mind, the whole thing felt suffocating.
It felt like standing on a stage in a wool suit under hot lights, reciting lines I'd memorized ten years ago.
