This story contains mature themes including emotional trauma, mental health struggles, and strong language. Reader discretion is advised

CHAPTER 15 (Kara's POV)

The alley smells like damp brick and fried food from the takeaway nearby. My shoes splash in shallow puddles, the sound echoing off the walls. 

Halfway down, I freeze. 

Two silhouettes lean against the wall, pressed close together. A couple. Kissing. 

Cute. For a second, I almost smile. 

But then the girl shifts. 

The cardigan slips off her shoulder, and the yellow light catches on her skin. 

On ink. 

XI XI MMVI. 

My stomach drops. 

That tattoo. Gwen’s tattoo. 

No. No, no, no. 

I blink, hard, like maybe I’m wrong. Like maybe my brain is playing tricks in the half-dark. But the guy’s hair — too dark, too short. That’s not Charlie. 

It can’t be. 

I pull my hood up so fast it nearly slips off again. My legs move before my brain does — running, splashing through the puddles, breath sharp in my throat. 

By the time I reach the end of the alley, my chest aches. My pulse is pounding in my ears louder than the traffic. 

This has to be a mistake. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe it wasn’t Gwen. 

But the tattoo. 
I saw the tattoo. 

She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. 

Would she? 

I don’t stop running until I see the faint shape of home at the end of the street.