(STEVEN'S POV)
I knew anger.
I'd lived with it long enough —
the cold kind, the silent kind, the pressure-under-the-skin kind.
But this morning?
This was new.
This was the kind that burned.
Every hallway I walked through, every whisper I caught, every stare Michelle received —
it all lodged under my ribs like broken glass.
And the worst part?
I didn't even know the full truth yet.
Not the words Lara used.
Not the details she hurled like knives.
Not the things Michelle had to hear with her own ears.
But I knew enough.
Enough to hate how helpless I felt.
Enough to know that if I'd been there —
if I'd heard the whispers when they started —
I would've torn them apart.
I'm not proud of that thought.
I'm not ashamed of it either.
Because it was her.
Michelle.
And people were tearing her apart for things she never did.
—
(Before That Laugh)
I followed her the entire morning —
quietly, closely —
because she looked like she was holding herself together with tape.
