CARMEN
My gaze shifted to a group of women by the tables, laughing and talking easily. Their energy was different.
It wasn’t sharp or obvious watchfulness. It didn’t feel fake being here.
It radiated warmth, closeness—like they truly enjoyed each other’s company.
Instinctively, something in me leaned toward that.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in such a group—a place where I didn’t need to measure every word, every expression, every breath.
In my world, women were divided into two categories.
Mean girls—always alert for weakness. Or women with polished smiles, hiding expectations and invisible strings in well-rehearsed pleasantries.
Somehow, though, this felt real.
My eyes settled on the redhead at the center, her hand gently on her pregnant stomach. The others natural
