Anya’s POV
Monday morning came too quickly. My alarm rang, sharp and annoying, and when I opened my eyes, they felt heavy and sore. I could still taste the tears that dried on my lips. My pillow was damp, and for a moment I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, wishing I could stay in bed and hide from everything.
But life doesn’t stop because your heart hurts.
So I forced myself up.
The house was quiet—too quiet. I glanced toward the corner where Kennedy usually dropped his jacket, half-expecting to see him still around, but it was empty. Relief washed through me, warm and slow. At least I wouldn’t have to face him this morning, not with my eyes red and swollen like I’d been stung by bees.
I slipped into the bathroom. The mirror wasn’t kind. My reflection looked tired, like someone
