The street was quiet except for the hush of the rain, that soft rhythm against the pavement that made everything feel sharper, the air, the light, the ache in my throat. Sarah stood there, perfect and untouched in her beige coat, looking at me like I was the one who had lost my mind.
I took a step closer, my voice trembling but steady enough to cut through the noise. "You told him, didn't you?"
"I already said—" she began, but I didn't let her.
"Don't," I snapped. "Don't lie to me, Sarah. You're the one person I told. The only one. So tell me... why would you do that to me? Why would you take something so painful, something I could barely even say out loud, and use it like that?"
Her lips opened, and for a second I thought I saw something real underneath her expression not guilt, but annoyance. Then it was all gone, replaced with trembling confusion.
