Emma sat at the edge of her bed, trembling with exhaustion. Sleep had abandoned her for days. Every time her eyes closed, she slipped back into those halls, those classrooms, those fragile moments when Ethan had been a boy untouched by betrayal.
But the truth gnawed at her relentlessly. Each time she evaded his questions, each time she skirted around the secrets, the ache grew sharper. She could feel Ethan's frustration even in the looping letters of his handwriting, pressing harder into the page—as though his determination bled straight through the decades.
That night, she opened the workbook. His message waited, fierce and unrelenting:
Emma. Enough of the riddles. Tell me the truth, or you'll lose me anyway. And isn't that what you're trying to stop?
Her tears welled. She gripped the pen, knuckles white. If I tell him, things will change. And if they change… I don't know what happens to me.