Lydia's Point Of View
I pulled the car up to the curb of Thomas's sleek, modern apartment complex. The engine hummed low, almost like it was catching its breath along with us. Lucinda unbuckled her seatbelt, but she didn't get out right away.
She turned to me, her eyes still wide, the streetlights reflecting off her glossy lip tint and casting shadows across her face that made her look younger, more vulnerable than I'd seen her in years. In that moment, she reminded me of the girl she'd been before the family expectations had hardened us both into something sharper, something less forgiving.
"I'm going to go in there and probably collapse on his sofa," she said, her voice finally losing that tremulous edge. A hint of exhaustion crept into her tone, settling there like dust after a storm. "I'll call you the second I've had a chance to breathe. I want to know the outcome with your parents and Grandma. Don't leave me hanging, Lydia."
