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Breakfast the next morning felt as gloomy as a funeral. No one was really talking. The only sounds filling the dining room were the soft clinks of silverware on plates and the low hum of the morning news playing in the living room.
Keith was sitting at the head of the table, pretending to concentrate on his food, but I could see how tense his jaw was and how he kept avoiding looking at Adrien. Mom kept glancing between us, her face anxious—like she was silently pleading for someone to break the silence.
I pushed my scrambled eggs around my plate, completely losing my appetite. My phone lay facedown next to my water glass, and I didn't even need to check it to know there were still no new messages. No word from Ethan. Not a single text since the night before.
I told myself he just needed some time to cool off. But there was this nagging, bitter voice in my head suggesting that maybe he didn't want to talk to me at all anymore.
