Ric felt the suffocating weight of tension thickening between Cammy and Greg. It clung to the air like an approaching storm, crackling with all the words unspoken and all the truths waiting to explode.
He shifted uncomfortably, rubbed the back of his neck, then cleared his throat—the awkwardness pressing too heavily on his chest to stay silent any longer.
"Uh… I think you two need to talk," he said, forcing a half-hearted smile. "Alone."
He moved toward the door in a rush of restless energy. "I'll… I'll go buy something and cook lunch. I've got a restaurant branch nearby. So yeah, I'll be back before noon."
And just like that, he was gone—out the door before either of them could respond. The quiet that followed was deafening. The click of the lock echoed like a gunshot.
Greg turned slowly to face Cammy. His eyes, once soft and confused, were now dark and stormy—burning with a hundred questions, a thousand emotions, and a tidal wave of pain. He took a single step forward.
