She sucked in a shaky breath, her fingers curling tighter around the letter, as if she could somehow pull him back through the ink on the page. As if holding onto these words meant she couldhold onto him.
But it didn’t. She had already lost him.
“Savy,” Mallory tried again, her voice gentle but firm. “What did he say?”
Savannah swallowed hard, her throat burning, her mind screaming at her to answer. But when she finally spoke, her voice was nothing more than a whisper, fragile and broken.
“He’s selling the house.”
Mallory stilled. “What?”
Savannah blinked rapidly as fresh tears blurred her vision, her lips trembling around the words she could barely force out. “He said—he’s finally moving on.” She swallowed against the ache lodged in her throat, shaking her head in disbelief. “The realtor is coming next week. Someone else is going to live there.”
Mallory let out a slow, quiet exhale, her grip on Savannah’s arm tightening like she was trying to anchor her. “Oh, Sav.”
Savannah let out a breathless, broken laugh, swiping at her wet cheeks with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “I should be happy for him, right?” she choked out. “That’s what I’m supposed to feel?”
Mallory didn’t answer. Because they both knew the truth. Savannah wasn’t happy. She was gutted. She had spent an entire year convincing herself that Chase was fine. That he had moved on, that he was living his life without her the way she had convinced herself she needed to live without him. She had told herself that his silence meant he was okay.
That it meant he had let go. But that wasn’t why he never called. Her breath hitched as the truth—the real truth—sank into her bones, carving through every defense she had built.
“He never called,” she whispered, her fingers running over the slanted letters of his name on the page. “Not once. And I told myself that meant he was fine. That he was moving on.”
Mallory swallowed hard. “He never called because he was waiting for you.”
Savannah’s breath caught. The words slammed into her, sharp and unrelenting, cutting deeper than she thought possible. Because that was the part that wrecked her the most.
Chase waited.
He had held on, thinking that if he reached out, she would run. That if he pushed, she would pull away. So he had done the one thing that went against every instinct in his body—He let her go.
And now, he was done waiting.
A sob ripped through her chest, her body curling forward as she tried—failed—to hold herself together.
Mallory’s hands rubbed slow, soothing circles over her back, grounding her, keeping her from unraveling completely. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to fill the silence. She just let Savannah break. Let her feel every ounce of the heartbreak she had spent an entire year trying to bury.
It felt endless. Like she would never stop drowning in the weight of her own choices. But eventually, the sobs quieted. The air around her felt a little less suffocating. And after what felt like forever, Savannah finally lifted her head.
Her eyes, swollen and red-rimmed, met Mallory’s.
And then—Her voice cracked.
“What kind of man waits, Mallory?”
Mallory blinked, lips parting, but Savannah wasn’t done.
“What kind of man holds on this long?” Her voice wavered, thick with grief, with disbelief, with something she couldn’t name. Another tear slipped down her cheek, her throat working against the emotion clogging it. “What kind of man has that much love inside him that he has to give up everything to finally let go?”
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
And then—
Savannah’s face crumpled. “I fucked up, Mal.”
Mallory exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Yeah, babe. You did.”
Savannah let out a breathless, humorless laugh, swiping at her wet cheeks again. “You’re supposed to lie to me.”
