MACEY 

Dinner felt suffocating.  

My parents’ eyes were sharp, piercing, slicing through Damien with a weight that made my chest tighten. Every glance, every twitch of their lips, sent my pulse racing.  

I kept reaching for Damien’s hand under the table, squeezing it gently whenever he faltered, whispering silently to myself that everything was fine, that he was fine. But inside, my stomach churned like a stormy sea.  

My palms were slick with sweat, my knees bounced nervously ...