Tuesday,8:42 PM
Emily:[image attached]
I opened it to find a canvas covered in shades of deep blue and silver, something abstract and moody that made me think of night skies and quiet lakes.
Emily:I painted today. First time since... everything.
Me:It’s beautiful.
Emily:It’s messy.
Me:Still beautiful.
Emily:You’re biased.
Me:Absolutely. Doesn’t make me wrong.
Emily:Okay that was smooth. I’ll give you that one.
Me:I have my moments.
Wednesday,3:45 PM
Me:[image attached]
Me:The girls made this for you.
The photo showed a large piece of paper covered in crayon drawings. Two small figures with yellow hair holding hands with a taller figure. Hearts everywhere. “WE MISS YOU EMILY” written across the top in wobbly letters.
Emily:Cam.
Emily:I’m crying now. I hope you’re happy.
Me:That wasn’t my intention but I’m not sorry.
Emily:They’re so sweet. I don’t deserve them.
Me:Yes, you do.
Emily:I’m putting this on my fridge when I get home.
When I get home.The words lodged somewhere in my chest and stayed there.
EMILY
Ichecked my phone for the fourth time in ten minutes. The screen was blank. My reflection stared back, looking as pathetic as I felt.
Cam hadn’t texted all day. Which was fine. Totally fine. He was busy. He had a business to run and two kids to wrangle. He had a life full of priorities that ranked higher than validating my insecurity before noon.
I checked the time. Or before 3pm.Sigh.
Except he’d sent one every day since I’d been at Mia’s. Without fail. Sometimes before I was even awake.
My thumb hovered over our message thread. The last message was one from yesterday afternoon, with pics of the girls artwork. They’d drawn a picture of me, saying they missed me. Man, I missed them too.
More than anything, though, I missed Cam. I missed the safety of his arms, the solid weight of him against me that made the rest of the world feel a little less chaotic. I missed the way his eyes crinkled at the corners right before he laughed, like I was the best part of his entire day.
Looking at his texts, my fingers itched to type something. Anything. A casual hey or a stupid meme or literally any excuseto break the silence. But that felt needy. Desperate. Like the old Emily who would have twisted herself into knots trying to figure out what she’d done wrong.
