Seraphina's Point Of View
After we finally pulled away from that unbelievable hug, Lydia wiped the last of her ruined mascara from her cheeks. She looked like an entirely different person… softer, more vulnerable than I'd ever seen her. We stayed at the cafe longer, ordering heavy chicken wraps to go with our flat Cokes.
My stomach was roaring from all the stress, demanding attention I'd been denying it for hours. The tension had shifted from a suffocating, terrifying cloud into something quiet and fragile, like fresh glass you're afraid to touch. We didn't talk about anything heavy. We just ate. It was remarkably simple, almost peaceful in its ordinariness.
