My phone lights up one more time. I don't reach for it.
We sit in the quiet, drinking tea that tastes like grass and too much sweetness. I don’t like it but I drink it anyway.
Outside, the city buzzes—sirens in the distance, late-night voices on the sidewalk below. Life continuing despite the earthquake that just split my world.
Eventually Elena hands me a blanket. "Get some sleep."
"I don't think I can."
"Try anyway."
I close my eyes, but my mind won't settle. It cycles through everything—Jessica's face, Tyler's eyes, Logan's texts, the way he read to my kindergartners last week with different voices for each character. How gentle he was when he held me at his apartment. How he looked at me like I mattered.
I swear I didn't know.
Did he? Could someone really not know?
Early morning, pale light edges through Elena's windows when I wake. Not dawn yet, but close—that gray in-between hour when the city holds its breath.
I'm still on the couch, blanket tangled around my legs. Elena's still in bed. My phone lies on the coffee table, screen dark.
I've been awake for hours, really. Drifting in and out, my mind sorting through the wreckage. But something's settled overnight—a clarity that wasn't there before.
I reach for my phone. One new message from Logan. He’s up too.
Logan:I'm at home. Whenever you're ready, if you're ready. I'll be here.
I read it three times.
Then I scroll up through his other messages. The desperate ones from early evening. The quieter ones after midnight. Each one raw and real.
I think about the man who admitted he was scared because I mattered to him. Who held my hand at the farmers market like he'd found something worth keeping. Who made me feel excited and seen in a way I’ve never felt before.
Those moments weren't fake.
And Tyler—that little boy with Logan's eyes—deserves better than this shit show. If Logan truly didn't know, if this blindsided him completely, then he needs someone in his corner. Someone who believes in him.
I need to hear his side. I need to look in his eyes when he explains. And if he's lying, I'll know.
I push the blanket aside, move quietly through Elena's apartment gathering my things.
My gown from last night hangs over a chair, sequins dull in the early light.
In the bathroom, I splash water on my face. The mirror says I’m a mess but there is something steady in my expression. I’m resolved.
"You're up early."
I turn. Elena leans against the doorframe in an oversized t-shirt, hair mussed.
"I'm going to see him."
She nods. "Figured."
"You sure about this?" Elena asks a few minutes later, watching from the kitchen doorway.
“I’m sure I need to hear him out." I straighten, meet her eyes. "If he's honest—if he really didn't know—he shouldn't face this alone."
"And if he's not honest?"
