BROOKLYN

Xander?

What was he doing there? And staring at me… like that.

I didn’t want to believe that ‘concern’ was what was etched on his face. Neither was I willing to accept his worry lines that had deepened.

I didn’t need him to care for me, or worry about my well-being. I was better off with his absence.

My fingers felt too heavy to lift. And my eyes— they hurt me when I tried to look beyond his figure.

I felt another presence in the room, one that comforted me. And the ...