Page 120 of Through the Storm

I set the phone down on the passenger seat. And wait.

Ten minutes.

For a second, I think I see someone move behind her bedroom window. But when I look again, there’s nothing.

Twenty minutes.

Forty-five.

Nothing. I stare at the front door one last time.

Just in case.

Then I start the car. I pull away slowly, like if I don’t rush it, maybe she’ll change her mind at the last second.

She doesn’t.

By the time I get back to the house, it’s fully dark. I sit in the driveway for a moment longer than necessary, my throat aching.

I didn’t get to say goodbye.

And that hurts worse than the breakup itself.

KATY

I don’t answer Ben’s texts or calls. Not because I don’t want to. But because if I do, I’ll beg him to take me back.

I lie on my side with my phone pressed to my chest, staring at the wall like it might tell me how to be braver than I feel. Ben’s last message glows behind my closed eyes, burned into my brain.

I’m outside. But I won’t get out of the car unless you ask me to.

I just need you to know I’m here. Always.

Always.

God. That word wrecks me.

I roll onto my back and blink hard, my throat tightening. My heart is beating too fast, and I can’t seem to breathe normally. I curl a hand over my stomach without thinking, like maybe if I ground myself there, everything else will calm down.

It doesn’t.

I miss him so much it feels physical. Like an ache behind my ribs. Like I’ve lost something essential, and my body hasn’t caught up yet.

I picture him sitting in his car across the street. Gripping the steering wheel, his jaw tight, doing the right thing even though it hurts him.

The image makes me want to cry. I really want to see him. Even ifit’s just for a minute. Just to say goodbye. Just to feel his arms around me and pretend, for one selfish second, that everything is fine, and I didn’t have to give up the best thing I’ve ever had.

But I don’t move. Because if I let myself have that, I won’t be able to let it go again.

My phone buzzes again. I flinch, heart leaping stupidly high before I even look.

But it’s not Ben.

Rebecca

Katy.

I stare at the screen, then sigh and type back with trembling thumbs.