Her nod was slow, like she’d been waiting for those words. “Like what?”
The words stuck in my chest, heavy. I wanted to swallow them down.
“Like I’m still there,” I forced out. “Even when I’m not.”
The admission sat between us, raw and jagged.
Chapter Fifty Five
Camille
The days blurred together, one long stretch of work, classes, and kids. On the outside, nothing had changed. I still woke up early to pack lunches, chased Zeke around with his shoes, and wrangled the twins through breakfast. At the doctor’s office, I smiled through check-ins and answered calls, my mind split between tasks and the heaviness that lingered in the background.
I hated myself for missing him. Hated that even when I promised I was done, part of me still hoped. Still wanted the sound of his truck pulling into the lot, the kids shouting his name, the way my chest lifted just knowing he was near. Hunter wasn’t supposed to be another chapter in the crappy part of my story. He was supposed to be the happy ending.
But I knew it didn’t work like that.
And it shows in the way I was unraveling.
Every laugh Zeke shouted across the room, every twin giggle, every little moment we’d once shared with Huntertwisted inside me. The kids asked less about him now, but that almost hurt more. It was like they were already learning how to stop expecting people to stay.
At night, after everyone was finally asleep, I’d sit in the quiet and feel the weight of it. The silence. The loss of something I’d started to believe might finally last. I hated myself for it, but I missed him.
I missed the stupid banter, the way his eyes would take on a new brightness when he looked at the kids, the steady presence that made my chaotic world feel just a little more balanced.
But I was done reaching out. Done sending texts that went unanswered. Done waiting for a knock at the door that never came.
I told myself this was survival. That I’d been here before, that I knew how to stitch myself back together.
Yet whenever I closed my eyes, I saw him sitting on the couch with Zeke talking about spaceships, pushing the twins on the swings, and leaning close to kiss me after he’d cornered me in the kitchen.
And the ache of losing that was worse than I wanted to admit.
Dani recognized the toll it took on me first.
She always did.
We were sitting in our usual booth at the diner, she sipping on iced coffee while I picked at fries I didn’t really want. She leaned back, studying me like I was one of her patients.
“You’re too quiet, Cam,” she said finally.
“I’m tired,” I answered, too quickly.
She rolled her eyes. “You’ve been tired since freshman year of college. This is different. Spill.”
I sighed, staring at the fries. “Hunter and I… we’re not talking much.”
“Not talking much,” she repeated flatly. “Or not talking at all?”
I didn’t answer, and that was enough.
Her expression softened. “Oh, babe. What happened?”
I told her about the last few weeks—the silence, the distance, all the ways I kept trying to find fault in myself, as if that might explain why things were slipping.
Dani listened quietly, then sighed. “I know you’re scared of chasing someone who doesn’t want to be caught,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “But you can’t keep bleeding yourself dry waiting for scraps.”
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