Tessa.
The doorbell rang just as I was finishing rearranging the throw pillows for the third time.
I froze, hands still hovering over the last cushion, fingers pressing into the fabric as if that final adjustment would somehow steady the flutter in my chest. I stepped back, tilted my head, scanned the couch again.
Too stiff?
Too deliberate?
I fluffed the corner of one pillow again.
Why was I like this?
I don't know why I was nervous.
It was just Sophie.
Just Sophie, who had seen me cry over burnt toast and bad decisions. Who had held my hair back once and my secrets a hundred times. Who knew the version of me that used to laugh too loudly in crowded rooms and the version that now measured her words before speaking.
But the thought of someone coming over, someone who knew me before and after, still made my chest flutter with a strange mix of anticipation and anxiety.
Before and after.
Before everything changed.
After I did.
