Phoebe glanced around the sterile, plain hospital room, the white walls pressing in on her as the hum of the machines around her felt suffocating. She had gotten her phone back, and now her fingers hovered over Irene's contact, hesitation tightening in her chest. Her thumb brushed the name but pulled back before she could hit "call." Instead, she turned the phone off with a sharp motion. The silence felt heavier now, but at least it was quieter in her mind.

The argument with Irene replayed over and over in her head. It wasn't their first fight, but this one felt different. More final, maybe. It wasn't just about the words they'd exchanged; it was about the truth that lay beneath it all. Phoebe loved Irene more than anything, more than she'd ever let on. But what hurt most was how Irene couldn't seem to shake the fear of what others thought of her. It was like she couldn't even be real with Phoebe—not fully, not like Phoebe wanted her to be. Phoebe's chest tightened at the thought of how Irene's mom treated her—how she'd always been so quick to push her away and criticize her. Phoebe knew that if she ever found out about the depth of their bond, it would only make things worse. It was like everything she and Irene shared was fragile, something they couldn't show to anyone else. Phoebe's heart ached, torn between anger and longing. She didn't know how much longer she could keep this up.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.