Pecan's pov
After dinner, I offered to stay behind and help clear the dishes. It was better this way,better to stay busy, better to keep my hands occupied, and most importantly, better to avoid Paul. I couldn't stand another second in the same room with him, feeling the weight of his gaze even when he tried to look away. Every stolen glance, every unspoken word hung heavy between us, suffocating me in ways I couldn't explain.
"I'll take care of these," I said quickly, grabbing a stack of plates before my mother could protest.
She shot me a look as she wiped her hands on a dish towel. "You don't have to, Pecan. You've had a long day already. Go on and rest."
"No, really. I don't mind," I replied, forcing a small smile. "I need to keep myself busy anyway."
Her eyes narrowed slightly as though she didn't believe me, but she shrugged and turned to leave. "Suit yourself. I'll be in the living room if you need me."
