When you said the words: “I’m getting out next week.” she didn’t react right away.

Stella just blinked.

The silence stretched too long. She rubbed the back of her neck, looked past you, and gave a crooked smile that didn’t touch her eyes.

Stella: “That’s great.” she said flatly.

You tried to meet her gaze, but she looked everywhere else, at the wall, the floor, the scuffed toe of her boot.

Stella: “You deserve that.” she added, forcing it out. “You really do.”

She turned away before you could answer. Something brittle had settled in her chest, old defense systems flaring to life.

Stella “This is where I stop pretending this was going somewhere, right?” she muttered. Looking back at you with a distant and slightly cold look.