The Three Who Chose Me

Josie

I wished I hadn’t said anything.

The second the words left my lips, I regretted them. They hung in the air, heavy and accusing, and I wanted nothing more than to swallow them back, to pretend I hadn’t said Michelle’s name at all. Especially not to Marcy.

The look on her face said everything. Her features froze mid-emotion—eyes wide, lips parted like she’d just caught her breath and didn’t know what to do with it. There was no relief in her gaze, no comfort, just a dawning horror, edged with disbelief.

I turned to face the wall, curling into myself. Maybe if I stayed like this, maybe if I didn’t look at her, the moment would pass. Maybe she wouldn’t ask me to explain.

But Marcy wasn’t like that.

She shifted on the bed, and I felt her hand lightly touch my shoulder, coaxing. "Josie," she said gently. "Sweetheart, what did you just say?"

I clenched my jaw, not turning. "You heard me," I whispered, voice flat. "I’m not repeating it just so you can pretend like I’m making things up."

Her fingers tensed on my shoulder. "That’s not what I’m doing," she said softly. "But this isn’t the time for vague accusations. I need you to tell me exactly what you meant. What happened with Michelle?"

I swallowed, the air around me suddenly too thick, too loud. The beeping of the machines, the low hum of lights, even the rhythm of my breathing felt intrusive.

"I don’t want to talk about it," I murmured.