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Something is wrong. I know it before I can explain why.

I’ve checked Callie’s Instagram four times this morning. Nothing.

Her last Story is still there. The one she posted last night.

I tap it again. A picture of a book fills my screen.

Sometimes you have to stop chasing things and let them come to you.

I’ve read the words at least twenty times.

They shouldn’t bother me. But they do.

“Fuck.”

I toss my phone onto the couch.

Maybe she’s busy. She runs a business. She has clients. Deadlines. A life. One that has absolutely nothing to do with me.

That’s how it should be.

I walk into the kitchen and pour another cup of coffee.

Two more days in this cabin and then I get my life back.

Back to work.

Back to hotels and temporary apartments.

Back to cities where no one knows my name.

Exactly the way I like it.

My gaze drifts toward the phone.

I grit my teeth.

Fuck this.

I drink my coffee.

By noon, Callie still hasn’t posted anything.

Not that I’m keeping track.

I’m just aware.

There’s a difference.

I’ve done everything I can think of to keep myself occupied. Now I’m sitting on the couch watching a television show I haven’t actually looked at in twenty minutes.

I pick up my phone.

No notifications.

I open Instagram.

Nothing.