Amelia POV

Day twenty-two without him.

I write the words at five-thirty in the morning, sitting on my futon with a cup of coffee. Outside, the city is already active—delivery trucks rumbling, early commuters trudging toward their lives.

My routine is automatic now. Wake at five. Coffee. Journal. Work by seven-thirty. Stay late. Gym. Home. Sleep. Repeat.

I’m thinner. My clothes hang loose. Harper keeps saying I need to eat more, but food requires appetite, and appetite ...