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Mira’s voice was cold. Gods, Mira’s eyes. They didn’t have an ounce of emotion.
“There is no *we*, Zoey. I don’t get to have a family.”
Zoey knows it wasn’t her. Mentally, it wasn’t Mira. It couldn’t have been.
But now, a day later, curled up in a blanket on a couch, she still hears it. Over and over.
Mira comes in, towel-drying her hair after a shower, and sees Zoey sitting stiff, eyes faraway.
They chat a little. It’s stilted. Zoey fidgets. Mira notices.
And then:
Zoey whispers, “Did you mean it?”
Mira turns. “What?”
“…What you said. Back there. When you weren’t… you.”
A beat.
“Because even if it wasn’t really you, it felt like you.”
Mira’s breath catches. She kneels in front of Zoey, eyes soft.
“No. I didn’t mean a word of it. I would never. Not about you.”
“But you thought it. Somewhere deep down, right?”
“No.” Mira reaches out, hesitant.
“I’ve said cruel things before. But never to you. And I never will. That wasn’t me, Zo. I swear.”
Zoey doesn’t cry, but her jaw tightens, like she might.
Mira pulls her in.
They lie on the couch now, Mira spooning Zoey from behind, the blanket cocooning them both.
Zoey’s voice is small. “I know it wasn’t real. But it still hurt.”
“I know,” Mira whispers against her hair. “I’ll say it as many times as you need.”
“I just needed to hear it once.”
“Then I’ll still say it a hundred times.”
They fall asleep like that—tangled, warm, safe.