Dami’s POV

I sat on the edge of my bed with a glass of chilled fruit juice balanced carefully in my hand, the condensation dampening my fingers. The room was too quiet and the only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioner and my own breathing. My phone rested loosely in my other hand, the screen dark, as though it shared my reluctance to wake the world with news I wasn’t ready to face.

The doctor’s medications had dulled the nausea, at least for now. My body felt lighter than it ...