Later that night, in the girl's bedroom.
The air was thick with tension, the room itself was quiet, but not peaceful. Not tonight.
Tasha stood outside the bathroom door, her forehead pressed gently to the metal, her hands clenched into trembling fists at her sides. From the other side came soft, stifled sobs—barely audible, but enough to shatter her heart with every breath.
She swallowed, guilt pooling deep in her gut.
"I should've told her," she whispered to herself. "I should've told her from the start."
She'd known about Jessica and Jayden's complicated history—who didn't? The late-night walks, the fights, the almost-kisses, the heartbreak. Everyone in the house knew about their bond all those years ago. But she believed Jessica had let go. After all, she was the one who had told her:
"Go ahead. If you like him, shoot your shot. I don't care about him anymore."
But Carl had said it, that day. That Jessica hadn't really gotten over Jayden.
