TERESA'S P.O.V.
The cool morning air seemed to cling to my skin, a fleeting comfort that vanished the moment I stepped into the boutique. Inside, the soft glow of early light filtered through the large glass windows, drawing gentle shadows across neatly hung racks of clothes and displays. The city outside was only beginning to stir, the usual bustle still a whisper beneath the calm, but even that subdued noise felt jarring to my tired mind. I could feel the weight of my exhaustion pressing down on me, a fog that had settled over me from too many sleepless nights and endless shifts. My stomach twisted in knots, threatening to escape from my throat like bile but I forced myself to ignore it, telling myself it was just the stress I'd grown so accustomed to. For the past month, stress was a constant companion, something I could usually push past—but today, it felt different, heavier, like an unseen hand pressing against me from within.
