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I paused, stunned.
“What are you talking about?”
“Just trust me,” she said. “Get here. Now.”
I stared at my phone for a few seconds after Misty hung up.
My thumb hovered over the screen, like maybe she’d call back and say she was kidding.
She didn’t.
Instead, I sat there listening to the silence in my apartment, interrupted only by the distant hum of cars outside and the soft buzz of the dishwasher. A part of me wanted to ignore it all. I’d already been dragged through enough pain, and honestly, I didn’t think I had it in me to witness even more.
But something about Misty’s voice stayed with me.
It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t even sympathy. It was something else, something sharp and alive, like she had just watched a matchstick drop into gasoline.
And whatever that something was…
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