The second I hit the night air, my legs almost buckled. I forced myself to keep moving to my car.
My phone started buzzing—Mark, Tessa—but I ignored it.
I drove straight to my mom’s house.
Throughout the whole drive, I replayed what I saw. The red dress. Their hands. The kiss. The way they looked when they read my note.
My mom opened the door before I could even knock properly.
“Nat?” she said. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“It’s about Mark,” I said. “We need to talk.”
We sat at the kitchen table. The same one where he’d eaten a thousand meals.
I told her everything. The restaurant. The plant. The kiss. The dessert. The note. The confrontation.
I didn’t add drama. I didn’t leave anything out.
