There is nothing in my fridge that does not come in a package or require exactly zero skill. The irony hits me sideways, and I have to grip the counter until it passes.
I stop at the window and rest my forehead against the glass. The city sprawls below me, alive and indifferent. Lights blinking. Cars flowing. People moving with purpose, which I suddenly envy.
Somewhere in that mess is Sunrise & Salt. Tess. The life I torched because I could not stand the idea of not being essential.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to the glass.
The city does not answer.
My phone buzzes on the counter behind me.
I do not need to look.
Rex.
Of course, he is calling. Of course, he is energized. Of course, he thinks tonight was a win.
I let it ring.
Again.
Again.
On the fifth call, the buzzing stops, and a text replaces it.
REX: You handled her yet? The media’s warming up. We’re moving fast.
Handled her.
The phrase turns my stomach.
Like she is a liability.
Like she is a variable.
Like she is something to be managed rather than a person who trusted me with her heart, her history, and the most fragile parts of her dream.
I flip the phone face down.
I cannot deal with him yet.
There is something else I have to do first. Something I owe her, whether she wants it or not.
I scroll through my contacts until I find her name.
Tess Bennett.
It feels heavier now, like it knows what I did. My thumb hovers.
She told me to get out. She told me I was done. I deserve the silence. But I also deserve to say the words, even if they land in a void, even if she hangs up on me, even if it changes nothing.
I hit call.
The ring feels like a blade sliding along my nerves.
Once.
Twice.
