Hair tousled. Skin flushed. Wearing almost nothing.
She tilted the phone just enough for me to see him—asleep in her bed. No shirt. Completely still.
She smiled.
“Della,” she said warmly, like this was some casual reunion. “I’m sorry. Dorian’s already asleep. He came back to me… like he always does. We’ve decided to give us another chance.”
Her voice was smooth, almost gentle.
“He told me it was just a fling. You were a mistake. We’re together now—the way it was always meant to be.”
I didn’t say a word.
Couldn’t. The world just crashed down on me.
I just watched the image on the screen. Watched him—the man I gave my heart, my dreams, my all. The one I needed the most in this moment. The only one who could have saved me from this nightmare—was lying in his ex-wife’s bed.
Each breath cut deeper than the last.
Leah leaned in, her tone turning soft. Almost kind.
“You really shouldn’t call anymore. Let him go. For your own good.”
Click.
The call ended.
And something inside me—something fragile and desperate and still barely holding on—died that moment.
I set the phone face-down. I turned my face to the wall and started building my own wall.
Feel nothing. Need no one.
Never again.
* * *
“Della”
His voice pulls me back. Back to the lake house, the couch. Back to now.
Dorian is kneeling in front of me, both hands on my arms, grounding me.
His brow is drawn, jaw tight—but his eyes… his eyes are wide with concern, trying to read my face like my silence holds a story he’s only now trying to read.
“Della,” he says again, lower this time, like he’s afraid to startle me.
“Talk to me. Are you okay?”
I feel his thumb press lightly against my wrist, checking for something—steadiness, maybe. Or a pulse.
His voice wavers, just slightly.
“You looked like you were going to faint.”
I blink. Once. Twice. My breath is shallow.
And I realize—I’m not fully here.
