Then he started sleeping on the couch.
At first, it seemed harmless—he blamed his back, joked about it. But it kept happening. Every night, he’d start in bed with me, then quietly leave.
Around the same time, Mellie began to look exhausted—not just normal teenage tired, but something deeper. I noticed how she seemed oddly comforted when Oliver was around. That should have reassured me.
Instead, it made me uneasy.
One night, I woke up to find Oliver gone. The house was silent. Then I noticed a strip of light under Mellie’s door.
My heart dropped.
I cracked the door open—and froze.
Oliver was sitting on top of her bed, leaning against the headboard. Mellie was asleep beside him, holding his hand.
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