AMELIA POV

The photos are still scattered across my floor when I finally move. My knees ache from kneeling on the hardwood for twenty minutes.

I pick up one photo. Me and Nathan at the café, his hand on my shoulder. Cropped so you can't see the tears on my face that day. Cropped so it looks like intimacy instead of comfort.

My phone buzzes. Another email.

My thumb hovers over the delete button. I close the app instead.

The apartment feels too small. The walls press in. I grab my keys and ...