My vision blurs.
Under it is a still from rehearsal.
Cam stepping in front of me. His body angled protectively. My head lowered. Small. Exposed.
My breath stutters. I swallow hard, staring at the screen like it might correct itself if I wait long enough.
Of course this is how they spin it.
The moment I felt safest gets rewritten into proof I was useful.
I don’t realize I’ve gone still until Cam says my name.
“Lila?”
I can’t answer.
If I speak, I’ll break.
My shoulders pull inward on instinct, like I’m trying to make myself smaller, less visible, less easy to weaponize. The familiar shame creeps in fast and sharp.
What if he's just using me?
I glance up at Cam without meaning to.
His face is unreadable.
And my heart twists, cruel and fast.
There is no reassurance in his eyes.
Only distance.
Resignation settles in my chest, heavy and familiar, like an old coat I never wanted back but somehow kept.
I lower the phone and keep my gaze on the counter instead of him.
Because if I look at him now and see confirmation—
I don’t know how I’ll survive it.
Evelyn is still talking.
All I can think is how quickly something tender turns into evidence.
And how easy it is for the world to convince me that I should have known better than to trust him.
I take a step back without meaning to.
The movement feels instinctive. Protective. Like space might keep me from saying the wrong thing—or hearing the thing I’m most afraid he’ll confirm.
Evelyn clears her throat softly through the speaker. “I’m going to end the call for now. We’ll follow up once the review parameters are finalized.”
“Yes,” I say quickly. Too quickly. “That’s fine.”
My voice sounds steady. My hands don’t.
“Take care of each other,” Evelyn adds. “Both of you.”
