Didn’t call her out.
But it made me smile.
Her apartment complex came into view, the neon glow of a flickering streetlamp casting long shadows against the cracked pavement.
The place looked even shittier at night—a couple of cars parked haphazardly in the lot, trash piled near the dumpster, the faint sound of a TV blasting from an open window.
I hated that she lived here, knowing damn well she deserved so much better.
But I kept my mouth shut.
I pulled into an empty spot, shifting the car into park, letting the engine hum beneath us for a moment before killing it.
Michelle exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders like she was prepping herself to go inside. And that’s when I saw it.
The exhaustion.
The moment she thought I wasn’t looking, the second she let herself drop the strong front, I saw just how tired she was.
Not just physically—though I could see the tension in her limbs, the way her body moved like it was heavier than usual—but in a way that went so much deeper.
This wasn’t just a long day at work exhaustion.
This was carrying the weight of the world exhaustion.
And for some reason, that realization hit me harder than I expected.
She reached for the door handle, and before she could push it open, I reached for her hand, gently tracing my thumb over her knuckles.
She stilled. Didn’t pull away. Just let me hold on.
“Come on, Mitch. Let’s get you inside.”
She nodded, barely more than a tilt of her chin, and I got out, moving around to her side before she could argue.
She didn’t fight me when I opened her door, didn’t give me some half-hearted I don’t need you to help me speech.
She just stepped out, let me take her bag from her shoulder, and walked beside me toward the stairs.
And fuck, she looked spent.
Her movements were slower, her steps heavier, and by the time we reached her door, I could tell she was seconds away from collapsing.
She fumbled with her keys, missing the lock twice before I gently took them from her, unlocking the door and pushing it open.
She blinked up at me, her lips parting like she was about to argue, but I gave her a look.
"Go get in bed, Michelle."
For once, she didn’t argue.
Just sighed, kicked off her shoes, and wandered inside, her bag slipping off her shoulder as she made her way to the bedroom.
I followed, locking the door behind me.
By the time I walked into her bedroom, she was already curled up under the blankets, her body barely taking up any space on the mattress.
Her hair was messy, spilling across the pillow, and for a second, I just stood there, watching her, wondering how the hell she had wormed her way so deep under my skin.
