Chapter Three | After the Word
I answered before I could stop myself.
Just a breath, a flick of my thumb, and suddenly I was connected to the very thing I’d been running from.
“Hello?” My voice came out smaller than I expected. Not broken, but not whole either.
There was silence on the line. Not awkward. Not empty. Just his kind of silence—the kind that always came before a carefully measured word or a thought he wasn’t sure he should say.
My heart didn’t race. That would’ve been easier. No, it ached. Like it had been holding back too long and suddenly remembered how to feel again. A slow, quiet pulse of something deeper than fear.
This wasn’t excitement. This wasn’t relief.
This was grief with a heartbeat.
I closed my eyes and tried to ground myself in the sound of my own breathing, the way my hand trembled slightly as I held the phone to my ear. This was the moment I had imagined a hundred different ways—and none of them felt like this.
There was no grand apology. No confession.
Just Sam’s voice, low and steady. “Hey.”
That single word shattered something inside me. Not because of what he said, but how he said it. How familiar it was. Like the past hadn’t even paused. Like we hadn’t been strangers for months. Like he hadn’t disappeared. Like I hadn’t spent nights staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself I was fine.
Just Hey.
And God, I wanted to be mad at him for that.
But more than that—more than anger or pride or anything rational—I wanted to hold on to the way he said my name next. Soft, like a thought. Gentle, like a regret. He always said it like he was surprised it still belonged to me.
And now, everything inside me was unraveling. Quietly. Without ceremony.
What was I supposed to say?
Was I supposed to ask why he called? Why now? Was I supposed to act casual, like this didn’t cost me something? Like I hadn’t been balancing on the edge of this moment for months?
I didn’t know how to be casual with Sam. I never did. Because with him, every word felt like it mattered more than it should. Every silence meant something.
So I just sat there.
Phone pressed to my ear. Legs tucked beneath me on the couch. The weight of the call folding around me like a blanket I hadn’t asked for but couldn’t take off.
Because even if I didn’t say it, even if he never would, this call was a moment.
A choice.
A chance.
And it scared the hell out of me—because part of me still wanted it to mean something.
Part of me still hoped.
Even after everything.
Especially after everything.
