It’s ugly.
Loud.
Shaking.
And it doesn’t stop.
Because now that I’m alone, it all catches up to me—the loss, the shame, the sound of Sam’s voice saying he loved me, the way it felt to be wrapped in him and belong somewhere.
And now I don’t.
Now I’m just gone.
23
I sleep for twelve hours straight.
It’s the kind of sleep that feels less like rest and more like escape. It’s dark and dreamless, like my body finally shut down from emotional overload.
When I finally drag myself out of bed, my limbs feel heavy, like I’m swimming through molasses. I trudge to the bathroom and step into the shower, standing under the hot spray until my fingers prune. It helps, a little. Not much. But I’ll take what I can get.
I dress slowly, slipping into my own clothes. They feel foreign. Tight in places I’d loosened. Familiar, but wrong. I smooth down the shirt I once wore to interviews and job pitches and think, this isn’t who I am anymore.
When I shuffle into the living room, Tish is curled on the couch beneath a throw blanket, her phone in one hand and a half-empty La Croix in the other. She sits up as soon as she sees me.
“What time is it?” I croak.
“Eight,” she says, eyes scanning me. “At night.”
I nod, dazed.
“You hungry?”
I open my mouth to say no, but she beats me to it.
“Babe,” she says, soft but firm, “you need to eat something. Let me make you a sandwich.”
“I don’t have bread.”
She smiles gently, standing. “I went to the store while you were asleep. Picked up a few basics.” She reaches into her tote bag and pulls out a sleek box. “And I got you a new phone.”
My breath catches, and my eyes fill before I can stop it. “Tish…”
“Don’t cry,” she says quickly, stepping closer. “I know you hate that.”
Too late.
I swallow hard, blinking furiously. “Thank you.”
“Sit down.” She squeezes my shoulder. “Let me feed you. Then we’ll talk.”
I do as I’m told. A minute later, she places a plate in front of me with a turkey sandwich and a side of kettle chips.
I stare at it for a second. Then I take a bite. Slow. Mechanical. Another. And another. I make it halfway through before my stomach clenches. I push the plate away and fold my hands in my lap.
Tish watches me for a beat. “Ready to talk?”
I let out a breath. “Not really.”
