For the first time in days, the silence in my apartment wasn’t peaceful. It was suffocating. I sat in the dark, the glow from the city filtering faintly through the sheer curtains, lighting up the bottle on the table beside me. The room still smelled of hospital disinfectant and regret — a scent that clung to me like sin.

I hadn’t shaved. My shirt was wrinkled. My head throbbed from too many nights of no sleep, too many days replaying the press conference over and over again in my mind. ...