Not even close.
43
Breaking Point
Thesilencewassuffocating.
Mallory stood frozen, her phone still warm in her palm, the weight of the call with Chase hanging in the air like the last crack of thunder after a storm.
She hadn’t even tucked it away before Savannah stepped into the living room.
Mallory’s stomach twisted.
Savannah’s eyes—wide, glassy, desperate—locked onto hers, searching for something. Anything.
Mallory had no idea how much she had overheard.
She wished she could have one second—just one—to figure out how to do this without breaking her.
But Savannah wasn’t going to let her.
The weight in her gaze demanded answers.
“How long have you been standing there?” Mallory’s voice barely made it past the lump in her throat.
Savannah took a step forward. Arms crossed. Defensive. Bracing herself.
Like she already knew.
“Long enough,” she whispered.
Mallory exhaled.
There was no delaying this. No sugarcoating it.
Savannah’s voice was barely above a breath when she spoke again.
“You called him.”
Not a question. Just a fact.
Mallory nodded. “Yeah.”
Savannah’s chest rose and fell, her fingers curling into fists against her sides. She had been waiting for this. For something. A sign.
She just never expected it to feel like this.
“And?” she croaked.
Mallory hesitated.
She wanted to lie. Wanted to find a way to soften it. To dull the blade before it struck.
But she couldn’t.
Not when Savannah was already standing there, unraveling right in front of her.
“He said he’s just started picking up the pieces.”
