up. I steady myself before checking my DMs. There are dozens of them from family, former colleagues, even a message from someone I matched with on a dating app and forgot to block. And then there’s the one. The one from Issac. I’m barely breathing when I click on the message. Except it’s not a message, it’s a notification for a tagged picture posted to his page at 11:58 last night. I was asleep by then, but the photo is of us. He knows I don’t want to be on social media, yet here we are. Issac between my bare legs because I had shorts on, me on the couch while I did his hair the night before,
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