Ella stood in the middle of the living room, pacing unsure whether to sit, sleep , or disappear altogether.
The house was quiet. Nicholas hadn't come back from work yet, and for that, she was both grateful and anxious. She didn't know how to face him after the way she'd pulled away that morning.
He hadn't said anything—hadn't chased her, hadn't pressed. But that almost made it worse.
Because the truth was… she'd wanted to stay.
Her retreat had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the panic gnawing at her ribs. Because it felt too good. Too safe. Too much like something she might want. And she wasn't sure she was allowed to want anything anymore.
