Now that I’m finally home, trying to decompress, trying to forget everything, a new email arrives.
From Mark.
Subject line:
For you, always.
My heart sinks.
Attached is a raw demo. Just guitar. Just his voice. Just our history.
I listen.
For fifteen seconds.
My throat burns.
A single tear falls.
I close it.
I delete it.
I empty the trash folder.
I stare at my phone for a full minute after deleting Mark’s email.
My pulse is too fast. My brain is too loud. My heart is doing Cirque du Soleil.
I need… something. Someone.
I scroll through my contacts.
And before I can stop myself, I tap:
Dr. Jenkins, Therapist.
It rings. Goes to voicemail.
Her calm recorded voice fills my apartment:
“You’ve reached Dr. Mira Jenkins. Please leave a message.”
BEEP.
Oh God.
I panic-speak.
“Hi! Hello. It’s me. Annabelle. Obviously. You know my voice by now. Anyway, hi.”
I pace the length of my living room.
“So I think I need to schedule, like… an emergency session? Or possibly an emotional exorcism? Whichever is covered by my insurance.”
I rub my forehead.
“My ex dropped a breakup song today. A full emotional ambush. Lyrics. Instrumentals. Feelings. It’s… a lot. And unfortunately it’s also… good? Like Grammy-bait good? So that’s disgusting.”
