You didn’t hear her heels echoing down the hall until it was too late.

Addison rounded the corner into the empty supply room, stopping dead in her tracks when she spotted you — hunched over, back against the wall, your hand pressed against your mouth as you tried to keep the sobs in.

Her expression dropped from irritation to something unreadable. Her arms crossed, her posture stiff, like she didn’t want to be here. Like she wished she could walk away.

She didn’t.

Instead, she just stood there. Watching. Silent.

You sniffed, wiped your eyes fast, but your face betrayed you.

“Don’t,” you said without looking up. “Don’t say anything. I don’t need a lecture today.”

Addison exhaled. “Trust me, I have better things to do than waste breath on you.”

You flinched slightly — maybe not at the words, but the sharpness behind them. And she noticed.

She hesitated.

Then, quieter: “What happened?”

You shook your head. “Does it matter? You hate me.”

Her voice was clipped. “Yeah. I do. But I also work here. And you’re crying in a supply room. So…”

You glanced up at her, eyes rimmed red. “So what?”

“So I’m asking.”

She didn’t move closer. She didn’t soften her tone. But she stayed.

And for some reason, that made you cry harder.