And then she walked away, light as she’d arrived.
That night, I called Dominic.
I told myself it was because I was being a good girlfriend. Because I wasn’t avoiding him.
Because I could do thisonething.
He answered on the second ring, voice warm and familiar.
“Flash.”
My throat tightened immediately.
“Hi,” I said, forcing brightness. “I’ve got like… ten minutes.”
There was a pause on the other end. “Ten minutes,” he repeated softly. “Okay. Tell me something good.”
I leaned against my counter and stared at the clean mug rack like it might hold me upright.
“René gave me more responsibility,” I said. “And Mischa is—Mischa is being Mischa.”
Dominic chuckled quietly. “That’s my girl. Collecting terrifying mentors like it’s a hobby.”
I smiled, and it hurt.
He asked about my day. I gave him the clean version. The efficient version. The one where I sounded fine and busy and successful.
He listened. He always listened.
And somewhere in the middle of my carefully edited report, he said, very gently?—
“Do you miss me?”
My mouth went dry.
“Yes,” I said immediately.
Dominic exhaled, like he’d been holding something in. “Okay.”
I waited for him to ask for more.
He didn’t.
Instead he said, “I miss you too. A lot.”
My chest tightened.
I looked at my phone, at the call timer ticking down, and felt the pressure of everything I hadn’t said.
“I wish I could talk longer,” I lied.
“You can,” he said quietly. “But I don’t want you to get behind.”
The words weren’t sharp. They were worse—calm, accurate, offered like a fact and not a weapon.
I swallowed hard.
“I have to go,” I said, because it was easier than answering him.
