The wind was sharp, and the sky had turned an ugly shade of gray as I sat on the damp bench beside my mother’s grave.

It had been a horrible day, maybe the worst of the year. Oh, who was I kidding? Everyday was worse than the last. I’d woken up late. Trina had snapped at me before I could even grab my keys. At work, my boss had singled me out in front of the entire office for something that wasn’t my fault, and to top it all off, someone spilled hot coffee on my blouse during lunch and didn’t even say sorry. I hadn’t cried, not fully. Just a few well-timed blinks and clenched fists.

But here, at least, I could breathe.

I brushed my fingers over the small marble headstone, wiping away a layer of dust. The gold letters still shone faintly in the fading light.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s me again. I guess you know that, though.”

The cemetery was nearly empty, just the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant hum of traffic. I pulled my knees to my chest and rested my chin on them.

“I had a really bad day. The kind where you start to question everything… and everyone.”

I laughed a little. It sounded hollow.

“Trina still pretends I don’t exist unless she’s criticizing me. And Chloe…” I shook my head. “She’s just Chloe. You’d hate her, by the way. She’s mean. And fake. And somehow always knows how to make me feel like I’m thirteen again.” I paused. “She’s a bitch.” I added. There. That actually made me feel a tad good. 

I reached into my bag and pulled out the wilted bouquet I’d bought that morning. I’d had to buy the flowers in the morning beforehand, or else I wouldn’t have made it to the flower shop on time before they closed and I made it here. 

“Sorry they’re not fresh,” I murmured, placing them gently by the grave. “Next year, I’ll do better.” I’d made the same promise last year, just over something different. 

The sky had gone from gray to indigo. Crickets chirped nearby, and the coolness in the air warned of coming rain.

I checked my phone. 7:52 p.m.

“He’s late again,” I muttered, tucking it back into my coat pocket.

Every year, Dad promised he’d meet me here. Every year, he was late. Sometimes he showed up. Most times he didn’t. I always waited.

I rubbed my arms and tried not to take it personally. Maybe something came up at work. Maybe he forgot. Again.

I waited thirty more minutes, watching the last of the light disappear behind a row of blackened trees. My fingers had gone numb.

When I finally stood, I was exhausted in every possible way. I’d carried the weight of this day for so long, and yet every year it found a way to feel heavier.

“I miss you,” I whispered. “So much it hurts.”

I turned and walked away, tears clouding my vision now that no one could see me cry.

---

Noah’s apartment wasn’t far. Just a few blocks, and I needed comfort. A hug. Warm arms. A place to rest my head and not be alone.

I didn’t text or call. I just went. I had a key.

When I got to the building, I pushed the door open and climbed the stairs slowly. I was tired. Bone-tired. But knowing Noah would be on the other side of that door, that made it easier.

The hallway was quiet. I slid the key into the lock and opened the door as quietly as I could.

Inside, the lights were on. I heard music playing, low, sultry…and unfamiliar. My brows rose slowly. Since when did Noah listen to music like tbat?

I walked in, shutting the door behind me. The living room was empty. The couch had one of Chloe’s jackets draped over the armrest.

My stomach dropped and I froze. 

I stepped out of my shoes, heart thudding. Maybe she dropped by earlier. Maybe she forgot her jacket.

Then I heard a giggle. High pitched. Hers.

I froze again. My heart thudded in my ears. 

Another sound followed. Noah’s voice. Low and muffled, saying something I couldn’t quite make out. Then her laughter again.

No. No. No.

I moved without thinking, down the short hallway, past the picture frames we’d hung up together two years ago. My fingers trembled as I reached for the bedroom door.

It was slightly ajar.

I pushed it open.

Time rolled and stopped.

Chloe was on the bed. Her legs tangled in Noah’s sheets. Noah hovered over her, bare chest exposed. Her lipstick was smeared. His face buried in her neck.

They didn’t see me at first. The world seemed to mute itself, all sound sucked out of the room.

Then Chloe looked up. Her eyes widened. She didn’t even try to cover herself.

Noah turned around.

His expression shifted from shock, then guilt, then something like panic.

“Bella…wait…”

I slammed the door shut before he could finish. My chest burned, my vision swam, and I nearly stumbled back into the wall.

I reached for the doorknob to leave, but my hand shook too badly to grip it.

“Bella, please!” he called through the door. I heard footsteps, fast.

I yanked the door open just as he reached it.

He stood in front of me, disheveled and desperate, his voice low and pleading.

“It’s not what it looked like.”

I laughed. It sounded broken.

“Don’t insult me,” I said. “I know what I saw.” I blinked back tears. “How could you do this?” My voice broke. 

Chloe appeared behind him, still in his shirt, her arms crossed like I was the intruder here.

“You weren’t even supposed to be here,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

I stared at her. Then at him. The two people I should’ve been able to count on. Okay, maybe that was a stretch. 

Noah stepped forward. “I messed up, okay? I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“Right. You just tripped and fell into bed with my stepsister.”

“Bella, come on…”

I shook my head, heart pounding louder than his voice.

“Don’t follow me.”

I turned and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind me so hard it echoed down the hall.

Outside, the cold air hit me like a slap. I didn’t know where I was going. I just kept walking.

And then my phone buzzed in my coat pocket.

One new message from Dad.

I opened it, hoping for an apology.

Instead, the words on the screen made my legs stop moving completely.

‘I’m sorry, Bella. I couldn’t come. Trina needed me tonight.’

I stared at the message, blinking.

And I didn’t? Mom didn’t?

I shoved my phone in my pocket and marched down the street. I needed a drink.