Zoe's POV
Some memories don't knock.
They crash through you—loud, relentless, uncaring.
They come uninvited, dragging the past behind them like a violent tide that doesn't ask what it destroys on its way in. One second you're standing firmly in the present, the next you're drowning in something you thought you'd buried.
And standing there in Brandon's room—my heart thundering, my breath trapped somewhere between denial and truth—that memory returned to me in full color, vivid and merciless, like it had been waiting for the exact right moment to resurface.
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Eight Years Ago
The air inside the indoor pool facility was sharp with chlorine and echoes—splashes ricocheting off tiled walls, whistles cutting through lingering excitement, the distant hum of lockers slamming shut. The meeting had run long. Too long.
