Ava's Point of View
It was well past midnight, yet Dylan still wasn't home. The house felt too big, too quiet, too cold. I paced the living room like a restless shadow, clutching my phone so tightly it hurt. Every minute I checked it, hoping for a missed call, a single text — something.
Nothing.
With the way he left the house angry something had to be wrong, but what?
"My goodness… Ava, darling?" my mother's gentle voice cut into my panicked fog. I turned around quickly, attempting to school my expression before she could read the storm behind my eyes.
"Why are you still awake?" she asked, concern already creeping into her voice as her gaze traced my face.
I forced a smile and wrapped my arms around her for a hug. "Ma," I breathed, stalling, unsure which version of the truth I was supposed to give. After a moment, I pulled back. "Dylan isn't back yet. I've been trying to reach him… no response."
