She handed me a cup of chamomile tea with honey. I didn’t know I was cold until I felt the warmth between my hands.
We didn’t talk until I was dry, in flannel pajamas, and curled up under a wool blanket on the couch, legs tucked under me like a child.
She sat beside me, slowly combing out the tangles in my hair. Her fingers moved with quiet patience, never pulling, never rushing.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“For what?”
“For lying. For not telling you.”
“I knew something was wrong,” she said. “But I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”
I closed my eyes.
And I told her everything.
From the fake OnlyFans account and the police report… to Ohio. To the scholarship. To the bonfire.
And Leo.
His smile. His kiss. The way he made me feel like the most important girl in the world.
Then the whispers. His sudden coldness. The heartbreak. The slow death of something beautiful.
“I lost my virginity to him,” I admitted, my voice shaking.
She didn’t gasp. She didn’t flinch. She just kept combing.
“I thought it meant something. To both of us.”
She kissed the top of my head. “I’m so sorry, baby girl.”
“I was supposed to lay low,” I choked. “I wasn’t supposed to fall in love.”
“But you did,” she said softly. “And that doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”
I wiped at my face with the sleeve of my shirt. “I hate him.”
“Do you?”
“…No.”
“Good,” she said gently. “Hating him would be easier. But you’re strong enough to feel all of it.”
We sat like that for a long time, fire crackling in the hearth, my aunt quietly untangling what was left of my dignity and heartbreak with every stroke of the brush.
The next morning, the air had that early October bite to it—crisp and clean, with a faint smell of woodsmoke drifting in through the cracked kitchen window. My eyes were swollen from crying, but sleep had helped. A little.
I padded into the kitchen in my slippers and hoodie,expecting another day of dragging myself through Royal Oaks hell.
But my aunt was already waiting by the stove, flipping pancakes in a pan like it was any other morning. Like my world hadn’t shattered 12 hours ago.
“Sit,” she said gently, nodding toward the kitchen table.
“I’m gonna be late,” I muttered, avoiding her gaze.
“You’re not going today,” she replied. “I already called you in sick.”
