ANGELICA POV
I didn’t know how he did it.
One second, I was tangled in sheets, wrapped around the man I loved like he was oxygen and I was starving, and the next—I was here.
In this stupid, quiet room.
Staring at a poster of a smiling fetus on the wall like it wasn’t the creepiest s**t I’d ever seen.
Everything smelled too clean. Too cold. That sterile, lemon-disinfectant smell that reminded me of IVs and blood pressure cuffs and white walls. Not death, not exactly. Just that hollow space where life felt fragile. Controlled. Outside of you.
I shifted in my seat, the paper sheet on the bed crinkling beneath me like it was mocking how out of place I was. My fingers twisted the hem of Killian’s hoodie, sleeves way too long, the fabric soft from being worn and washed a thousand times. I
