NOAH
I froze with my body pressed against the cold wall close to the kitchen.
The door downstairs was only cracked open an inch, just a tiny sliver of space, but the words drifted through anyway, clear and sharp enough to cut right through me.
"Whatever this is… between me and Noah… it has an end. It was never built to be a permanent thing."
Then came the second blow, delivered in that same calm, matter-of-fact tone.
"Our arrangement has an expiration date."
It didn't hit me in waves. It didn't take time to sink in or register.
The moment the words left his mouth, everything inside me just broke. It was like a glass dropping onto concrete from a high shelf.
One second it was whole, and the next it was just dust and jagged pieces. There was no middle ground.
My body knew what had happened before my brain could even find the words for it. My chest caved inward, pulling tight, shrinking as if I'd been punched hard in the ribs.
