Maria.
I was still sitting on the edge of my bed, elbows resting on my knees, fingers loosely intertwined as if they could somehow hold my thoughts together. But they couldn't. My mind was a storm, loud, chaotic, relentless. Every memory, every doubt, every whispered insult circled me like vultures waiting for me to break.
The room felt too small, too quiet and too heavy.
A sharp knock shattered the silence.
It wasn't hesitant, it wasn't polite, it was abrupt, forceful, like whoever stood on the other side didn't intend to wait.
My spine stiffened.
Before I could even part my lips to respond, before I could gather myself enough to say "come in," the door swung open with a harsh creak.
Patricia stepped inside.
She didn't ask for permission.
She didn't need it, at least not in her mind.
