"Try to get some sleep," she says. "You sound exhausted."
"I am exhausted."
"Then sleep. The men outside will handle everything else. You just focus on keeping Dante alive long enough for us to come get him."
"Goodnight, Soph."
"Goodnight, Marina."
I hang up.
Three men.
At least three men watching my building.
I set my phone back on the coffee table. Lie back down on the couch.
My eyes drift to the bedroom door.
Closed. Silent. He's in there. Sleeping. Healing. Taking up space in my life like he never left.
I close my eyes. Try to slow my breathing. Try to quiet the thoughts racing through my head.
But sleep still won't come.
Because now I'm thinking about work.
I was supposed to be at the nonprofit in four hours. Running the morning art therapy session with the foster kids. Setting up easels. Mixing paints. Helping small hands create something beautiful out of nothing.
I can't go.
I can't leave him alone. Can't leave the apartment. Can't pretend everything is normal when there's a man with a bullet hole in my bedroom.
I reach for my phone again.
Open my email.
Start typing.
Hi Sarah,
I'm not feeling well. Stomach bug, I think. I won't be able to come in today. I'm so sorry for the short notice. I'll keep you updated on how I'm feeling.
Marina
I read it twice. Three times.
I've never lied to Sarah before. Never missed a single day of work. Not once in eighteen months. Not when I had the flu. Not when my hand was cramping so bad I could barely hold a paintbrush. Not when the nightmares kept me up for three days straight.
I was reliable. Dependable. The employee who always showed up.
And now I'm calling in sick because of a man.
A man who was supposed to stay away from me.
I hit send.
The email disappears into the void.
