She hopped out when she saw my cast and the bag.
“You ready?” she asked quietly.
“No,” I said. “But I’m leaving anyway.”
She took my bag, helped me into the passenger seat, and we drove off.
My phone buzzed with calls and texts—Jason, his mom, unknown numbers.
I turned it off.
At Megan’s place, she helped me onto her couch, set my arm up on a pillow, and handed me some water.
“You can stay as long as you want,” she said.
“We’ll figure it out. One step at a time.”
My arm throbbed. My chest hurt.
I cried for the life I thought I had.
But under the crying, there was this quiet relief.
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