I curled up on my bed, blanket pulled to my chin, sobbing. I felt hollow—fifteen, alone, and like the world hated me. No one listened. Not my family. Not my friends. Not even my boyfriend.

I stared at my iPod, shaking hands, firing off messages—accusing him of lying, of flirting, of not loving me. He was older. Done with high school. Insecure because I still had a future, maybe a good university. He didn’t want me to feel strong.

Then—

A soft pat on my back. Gentle. Soothing.

I froze. Pulled back the blanket.

No one.

I was home alone.

“What the hell...?”

I dove under the covers again. Another pat—through the blanket. Calmer, more deliberate.

I shut my eyes tight.

“No. Get away. I love him! I lied. I love him! I’m happy with him!”

The patting stopped.

But the blanket still held the warmth of something that had been there.