The restaurant lights suddenly felt too bright. The chatter around the room had turned strange and distant, like I was underwater and everyone else was speaking through glass.
“Claire, you’re not fine,” Tessa said firmly. Her voice had lost every trace of politeness. “You’re bleeding.”
She grabbed a stack of napkins from the table and pressed them gently to the back of my head. I winced as the paper soaked through almost immediately.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” my mother sighed. “It’s a scalp cut. Those bleed a lot.”
Tessa didn’t even look at her. “We’re going to the ER.”
Madison scoffed. “Are you serious right now? Over cake?”
That word—cake—hung in the air like an accusation.
My knees buckled slightly when I tried to stand, and the room tilted again. Tessa caught me before I could fall.
