She sat for hours, knees drawn to her chest, tears soaking into the fabric of her gown, until the fading daylight gave way to the orange glow of streetlights. A knock rattled the door, sharp at first, then gentler. “Clara? It’s me. Please open up.”
Phoebe’s voice. Clara dragged herself upright, wiped her face with the back of her hand, and opened the door. Her friend stood there, eyes red, expression stricken. Without a word, Phoebe pulled her close, and Clara broke again, sobbing into her shoulder.