“I’m sure,” I whisper. “I miss you. Every single day. And I’m coming home soon.”
He exhales slowly. “Guess I’ll start makin’ room for you here, then.”
“You already have.”
I close my eyes, leaning against the cool tile wall, with the letter pressed to my heart.
I stay in the lobby for a few more minutes after Reed hangs up, clutching his letter.
His voice still hums in my chest, soothing the ache that’s been sitting there for weeks.
Folding the letter carefully, I tuck it back into the envelope and take the elevator up.
My reflection looks back from the mirrored doors—tired eyes, mascara smudged, the ghost of a smile lingering from hearing his voice.
The large, metal doors slide open, and I stroll to my apartment, reluctant to go inside.
As I step back in, it’s quiet—no shouting, no laughter, just the low hum of a TV game menu looping repeatedly.
Brian’s off his game now, sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand, scrolling through his phone. The screen's glow illuminates his face, making the bags under his eyes look deeper.
He glances up as I walk in, his gaze sweeping over me from head to toe. “You look like shit,” he says flatly.
I blink, clutching the mail tighter.
Yeah,I think,he’s definitely changing his ways.
“So kind of you,” I murmur, setting the small stack of mail on the counter.
He nods toward it without looking up. “Anything for me?”
“No,” I say. My voice remains steady, even though I can still feel Reed’s words pressed against my ribs.
“You do the same for me, sunshine.”
He makes a grumbling sound, like he doesn’t believe me or thinks there’s no point in asking. He puts his beer down and moves toward the counter.
Fuck, I think he’s going to grab the mail, or maybe come back to me, but he doesn’t as he just stares at the envelopes, unreadable, turning away.
“Whatever,” he mutters as he walks back to his setup. The chair squeaks, the headset clicks, and his friends’ voices fill the air once more.
I stand there, still holding Reed’s letter in my hand, watching the man I used to know fade away behind a glowing screen.
The pain inside me doesn’t hurt the way it used to. It’s quieter now. Resolved. For the first time, I’m not wondering whether I’ll leave.
Now that I know I can create content without him, I can definitely leave him for good.
I turn away, slipping into our bedroom, the letter pressed close to my heart.
The noise fades behind me, the shouting and the laughter that aren’t mine.
In the stillness, I whisper to myself again, this time a promise instead of a hope.
“I’m going to do it.”
Brian sitsbeside me on the couch, scrolling through his phone with one knee bouncing, while the hum of his console continues in the background.
I’m half-curled into myself, thinking about Reed’s letter still, and how desperately I want to text him right now.
