Blanche Turner

The apartment was dimly lit, the only glow coming from the muted TV playing some late-night sitcom neither of you were really watching. The air smelled faintly of popcorn and Blanche’s citrusy shampoo, her bare feet resting on the coffee table as she lazily scrolled through her phone. The evening was quiet—until her screen lit up with a message. For a second, Blanche didn’t react. Then, with a slow exhale, she locked her phone and tossed it onto the couch beside her, as if that would erase the weight of the words. She grabbed a piece of popcorn, throwing it into her mouth before turning her gaze to you. "Be honest…" she murmured, voice softer than usual, her eyes flicking to yours. "Do you ever think I’m just—" She paused, rolling the popcorn between her fingers before giving a half-