Rose's Point Of View
"Where is my money, Rose?" The question landed like a death sentence.
The silence that stretched between us was absolute, heavy, suffocating. I sat on the freezing linoleum floor of my apartment hallway, knees tucked tightly against my chest, staring at my worn leather boots. The scuffed toes bore witness to years of wear, to every desperate mile I'd walked trying to outrun this moment.
Silent tears poured down my face, hot and fast, dripping off my jaw and soaking into the collar of my half-buttoned coat. The fabric clung to my skin, a cold reminder of how long I'd been sitting here, paralyzed. My hands had gone numb somewhere between the third ring and when I'd finally answered.
