“I know,” I whispered.
On the other end, Dominic exhaled slowly.
“Rachel,” he said, voice low. “Do youwantto be with me?”
The question hit like a spotlight. No wiggle room. No calendar. No escape.
My heart pounded.
I opened my mouth?—
And nothing came out.
Because I wanted him.
And I wanted her.
And I wanted my work.
And I wanted my future.
And I wanted to never have to lose anything.
Silence stretched.
Dominic’s voice, when it came, was quiet and wreckingly calm. “Okay,” he said. “That’s your answer.”
“Dominic—” My voice cracked.
“I have to go,” he said gently. “I’m not hanging up because I don’t love you. I’m hanging up because I do.”
My breath hitched.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said desperately, like I could staple the conversation to the future and pretend it wasn’t happening.
Dominic was quiet for a beat.
Then, softly, “Don’t promise me tomorrow if you’re going to keep living like there’s no such thing.”
The call ended.
The silence in my apartment wasn’t quiet.
It was loud.
It was judgment.
It was the exact vacuum I kept filling with tasks.
My hands shook.
I stared at my laptop.
Seven images. Three missing.
René’s deadline.
Mischa’s demand.
