The first thing I heard was pounding on the door—loud, impatient knocks that sounded more like someone trying to break in than politely asking to be let inside.
I woke up instantly, that kind of sudden panic hitting when you’re pulled out of deep sleep before your mind can catch up. The room was dim, filled with that pale gray light of early morning that makes everything feel unfinished. I had left the blinds slightly open the night before, so a narrow strip of dawn stretched across the floor. My phone glowed on the nightstand beside me.
8:02 a.m. Sunday.
Sunday mornings were sacred to me. They were the only part of the week that truly belonged to me. For weeks I had been juggling late nights, early alarms, and endless deadlines at work. The night before, I had finally fallen asleep feeling a rare sense of relief. For once, I had slept without clenching my jaw from stress.
