STEPHANIE

...

Three weeks.

That’s how long it’s been since Mel left. Since I last saw her face. Since she stopped answering my calls.

Three weeks of pretending I’m fine.

I wake up every day, get dressed, go to work, and act like my life is still on track. I keep my head down, immerse myself in charts and patient files, and pretend that the ache in my chest is something I can ignore.

At night, when my shift is over, I tell myself I won’t check my phone. That I won’t call. That I won’t sit there staring at our last conversation, wondering if she’ll ever answer again.

But I always do.

And she never does.

When I call, it rings, then goes to voicemail.

When I text, it stays unread.

It’s like I’ve been erased.

It’s a sign, right? That I should let go. That I should take the hint.

And for three weeks, I try.

I say yes to every invitation Amber throws my way. I let her drag me to brunches and force me into conversations with people I barely know.

I go out for drinks with friends from work, sit in bars filled with laughter and music, and let strangers talk to me like I’m someone worth knowing.

I do everything I can to fill the space Mel left behind.

But it doesn’t work.

Because no matter how loud the room gets, my mind is always somewhere else.

I catch myself looking for her in crowds, as if she might magically appear. I hear a voice that sounds like hers and turn my head too fast, my heart racing before reality slams into me.

She’s not here.

She’s not coming back.

And I’m tired of pretending I can live with that.

I wake up on Saturday morning feeling restless. I stare at the ceiling for a long time, my thoughts tangled in frustration, in longing, in everything I’ve tried to push away.

I don’t want to keep doing this.

I don’t want to keep hurting myself.

And I don’t want to keep hurting her.

Before I can overthink it, I sit up and grab my overnight bag.

I start packing.

I don’t even know what I’m planning to say when I get there. If she’ll even listen. If I’ll even get to see her.

But I know one thing.

I have to try.

Amber is in my kitchen when I walk out of my room. She has been staying over because she feels I'm too depressed to be left alone.

She looks up from her coffee, her gaze flicking to the bag over my shoulder.

Her brows lift slightly. “Going somewhere?”

I nod. “Hilton.”

She sets her mug down, eyes studying me like she’s trying to figure out if this is a good idea.

She doesn’t look surprised, though.

If anything, she looks like she’s been waiting for me to crack.

“You finally gave in,” she says.

I exhale. “I don’t know what I’m going to say.”

Amber leans back against the counter. “Do you at least know what you want?”

The question hits me hard.

Because yeah, I do.

“I want to stop running,” I admit. “I want to stop pretending.”

Amber’s expression softens.

For a moment, I think she’s going to warn me that this might not change anything. That I might be setting myself up for more hurt.

But she just nods.

“Then go.”

I blink. “That’s it? No lecture?”

She shrugs. “What would be the point? You’re already set on this.”

I huff a small laugh, shaking my head.

Amber tilts her head toward the door. “Go before you talk yourself out of it.”

And I don’t need to be told twice.

I grab my phone, open the ride app, and book a cab to Hilton.

As I wait, I stand outside, gripping my bag, staring at the quiet morning street.

My heart pounds in my chest.

I have no idea what will happen when I get there.

Will Mel even look at me?

Will she listen?

Or will she shut me out completely, proving that I’m three weeks too late?

I don’t know.

But for the first time, I’m not afraid to find out.

A car pulls up.

I inhale sharply, step forward, and get in.

And I don’t look back.

...

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