Luna’s POV
It hurt more than I imagined it would, walking away from Ashton last night, but I did it anyway, because I needed to. I lay in bed listening for him to come up, half hoping he'd climb the stairs, curl up behind me, and hold me the way he used to — but he never came.
Now, as I pad barefoot down the stairs and into the living room, I find the rooms empty and unnervingly still. His boots are gone from the mat, his practice bag no longer resting against the hallway wall . . . he's already left.
My shoulders sag as I head toward the kitchen, reaching for a mug and sliding it under the coffee machine to make myself a drink.
Taking a seat at the table, I barely have time to take a sip before I hear her, the soft thump of small feet on the stairs, slower than usual, still half caugh
