On Friday, the sun was barely peeking through the clouds when Phil drove Elena to the hospital.
The morning air was crisp, and the city had yet to fully awaken, leaving the roads relatively empty. The quiet hum of the car engine filled the space between them, but it did little to dispel the tension hanging in the air.
Elena sat in the passenger seat, her hands folded neatly in her lap, fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her blouse. She hadn't said much since Phil had picked her up, and the awkwardness between them was visible.
Phil glanced at her occasionally, noticing the way she stared blankly out the window, lost in her thoughts. He wanted to say something, anything, to ease the tension, but the words seemed to fail him.
