The morning arrives hazy, heavy with the weight of all that's been said — and all that hasn't.
Vanessa is still in bed when her phone buzzes on the nightstand. She glances at the screen. Daniella. A small pang of guilt rises in her chest.
She hadn't called her last night, even though she'd promised she would. Daniella had been her sounding board through the worst of this — through the anxiety, the what-ifs, the endless spiral of guilt. But after the confrontation with Richard, she hadn't had the strength to recount it all. She hadn't had the strength to say anything at all.
She lets it ring twice before answering.
"Hey," she says softly, her voice scratchy with sleep.
Daniella's voice comes through with a quiet warmth. "I waited for your call last night. But I figured you might need space."
Vanessa exhales, rubbing her eyes. "I'm sorry. I should've called. I just… couldn't."
"I get it," Daniella says gently. "How did it go with Richard?"
