Page 39 of The Song We Lost

My hands shake so badly I fumble the charger twice before I get it in.

My mouth is so dry my teeth feel wrong.

I stumble to the mini fridge, grab water, gulp it too fast, choke, cough.

“What day is it?” I whisper again, like if I keep asking I can rewind time.

Noah watches me with disgust.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “You really don’t even remember.”

A knock at the door.

Three sharp knocks.

Noah’s head snaps up and he moves to answer before I can.

The door opens, as the room spins…

Why is the room so bright?

A man in a suit stands there with a large envelope.

“Luke Carter?” the suit asks.

Noah’s jaw tightens, pointing in my direction. “That’s him.”

The man’s eyes flick to me, taking in my state, the wreck of the room.

“I need a signature,” he says, holding out a clipboard.

“What is this?” Noah demands.

I don't hear what he says, my stomach drops again. I fumble toward the door, still foggy, still blinking like I’m underwater.

“What day is it?” I rasp again, like a broken record.

Noah’s eyes flash. “Sign the damn thing.”

My hand is shaking so hard I can barely hold the pen.

I sign.

The man nods once, professional. “You’ve been served.”

He hands over the envelope and leaves.

The door shuts.

The room goes quiet.

I stare at the envelope like it’s not real.

Like it’s a prop.

Like if I don’t open it, it can’t hurt me.

Noah’s voice is low. “Open it.”