Andrea lies on Yeila's lumpy futon at 2:47 AM, staring at the ceiling where a water stain has formed a shape that looks disturbingly like a question mark. How fitting.
Her phone glows beside her pillow, the screen displaying that photo for the hundredth time tonight—Kayden's hand on Samantha Chen's arm, his smile easy and unguarded in a way he hasn't smiled at Andrea in weeks. She knows she should stop looking. Knows she's torturing herself. But she can't seem to stop pressing refresh, can't stop reading the new comments that appear every few minutes, can't stop searching for evidence that she still matters to him.
The comment section is still mostly empty, scrubbed clean by Kayden's systematic deletion. Only a few generic comments remain, carefully neutral, giving nothing away.
It's 2:47 AM and Andrea hasn't slept. Can't sleep. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees that photo. Sees Kayden moving on. Sees her future crumbling into nothing.
