PREVIEW

... the neat kind of crying. Not tears sliding quietly down a composed face. This was raw. Her shoulders jerked. Breath kept catching, like her lungs forgot the rules.

Sound escaped her in broken pieces, small and humiliating, and I stood there with my hands useless at my sides while something inside my chest twisted the wrong way.

It was not triumph.

It was not relief.

If it was guilt, it came tangled with grief, regret, envy, longing, and a dozen other feelings that ...

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