Olivia wipes her hands on a kitchen towel. “Sure. Will we talk wedding details over dinner? I’m thinking blush pink for the bridesmaids.”
The word “wedding” hits like a physical blow. “Sounds perfect.” My smile feels brittle enough to crack my face.
“Love you, sis!” Olivia calls as I practically sprint to the door.
“Love you too.” The words taste like ash.
In my car, I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. The image of Olivia’s trusting face collides with memories of what Hunter and I did yesterday. My stomach churns.
I slam my palm against the wheel. “What is wrong with me?”
Traffic crawls on the expressway, trapping me with my thoughts. I switch on the radio, cranking the volume until the bass drowns out the voice in my head listing all the ways I’ve betrayed my sister.
My phone buzzes. Hunter. I ignore it.
It buzzes again. And again.
At a red light, I glance down.
Hunter:Morning, Aurora. Still thinking about yesterday.
Hunter:I can’t focus. All I see is you.
Hunter:You can ignore me, but we both know what happened.
I throw the phone onto the passenger seat like it’s burning my fingers. The light turns green, and I press the accelerator too hard.
By the time I reach Bloom’s Press, three more messages have arrived. I don’t read them.
“Morning, sunshine!” My coworker Grace waves from her desk. “You look like death warmed over.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, ducking into my office and closing the door.
My phone buzzes again. Hunter sent a photo. I delete it without opening it, hands shaking.
I stare at my computer screen, trying to focus on the article about urban renewal. The words blur together. My phone lights up. Again. Again.
“Stop,” I whisper, turning the phone face down.
I type three sentences, delete two. The blinking cursor mocks me. My phone vibrates against the desk, inching forward with each message.
Ten new texts by lunch. All ignored. I can’t block him because I know he’d find a way around it. But I can’t answer him either.
I’m trapped, suffocating under the weight of a mistake that keeps growing with every message I refuse to read.
A tap on my door interrupts my spiral of guilt and panic.
“Ms. Harrison?” My assistant Zoe peeks in, her expression apologetic. “There’s a call for you on line one. The gentleman says it’s urgent.”
I rub my temples, grateful for the distraction from Hunter’s barrage of texts. “Did they give a name?”
“Um, he said you’d want to take it.” Zoe shifts uncomfortably. “Something about a Harrison Foundation matter?”
My stomach drops. Only one person would use that excuse.
“Thanks, Zoe. I’ll take it.”
After she closes the door, I stare at the blinking phone light. One, two, three breaths. I pick up.
