Raisel’s POV

I sat on the couch, fingers wrapped around a warm cup of tea. Across from me, Susan stared, her expression unreadable. We were alone in her office, the weight of unspoken words pressing between us.

“Are you ready to hear me out?” she asked gently.

I exhaled, my grip tightening around the cup. “Do I have a choice?”

Her lips pressed together. “No.”

I sighed. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” she cut in. “You hate change. And ...