đź’ś Nicole
I walked back to Grace's room feeling like I was moving underwater. Every step felt heavier than the last, as if Papa's words, Russia… leave tomorrow… war were invisible hands pulling at my ankles.
When I pushed the door open, Grace was sitting in bed with her blanket pulled up to her chest, her eyes already glossy. As soon as she looked at me, the first tear slipped down her cheek.
"The wedding…" she whispered, voice cracking. "It's really… over?"
Oh God.
I opened my mouth, ready to tell her we had bigger things to worry about. We had to think of Russia, about packing, about everything but her face crumpled before I could speak.
She burst into tears, full-body sobs, her shoulders shaking under the blankets. It punched the air out of me. I was already barely holding myself together, and now this? Grace, pale, wounded, mourning a future that no longer existed. That didn't even ever look like it existed in the first place.
