Mom kissed my cheek at 7:12 and asked if I’d slept.
I was standing at the kitchen counter in an old T-shirt and nothing else, thighs pressed together, both of them still leaking slow and warm down the inside of my leg. I’d wiped nothing. The ache between my legs was constant. Every shift of my weight made me clench around the mess they’d left, and every clench pushed another thick trickle lower. Julian sat at the table in sweats, coffee in hand, eyes on the bare skin of my thighs. Mateo stood at the stove, broad back to us, flipping eggs like nothing was wrong. Mom poured herself coffee and smiled at all of us.
“You look tired, sweetheart,” she said. “Long night?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” I managed. My voice was thin. Julian’s mouth curved behind his mug. Mateo set a plate in front of me witho
