Savannah dragged herself out of bed eventually, more out of restlessness than intention. She padded into the kitchen and poured a glass of water, which she barely drank. The fridge hummed softly. The counters were bare. No cutting board out. No second mug by the sink.
She leaned against the counter and closed her eyes.
This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? Space. Quiet. Control.
She opened her phone again without meaning to and scrolled to Tilly’s name. It sat there like a bruise she kept pressing on to see if it still hurt.
It did.
Savannah locked the phone and set it face down on the counter, like she was putting something dangerous out of reach.
She tried to distract herself. Put on a show she’d already watched twice. Folded laundry that didn’t need folding. Organized the junk drawer until everything had a place and none of it mattered.
Every few minutes, her brain tried to replay the argument from a different angle. Tried to rewrite it. If she’d said it differently. If she hadn’t gone straight tothen go. If she’d asked Tilly to stay instead of daring them to leave.
She knew why she hadn’t.
Asking meant admitting she needed them.
Savannah sat back down on the couch and pulled her knees up to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them. Her breathing went shallow without her noticing. The silence grew heavier, no longer neutral, just loud enough to notice.
She thought about work. About how the newsroom would sound without her there. About Tilly, maybe, noticing her desk was empty. Or maybe not. Maybe they were grateful for the distance. Maybe this was easier for them.
The thought hollowed her out.
She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her forehead into her knees, willing herself not to spiral. Not to do the thing where she assumed the ending and acted like it was mercy.
Her phone buzzed again.
She flinched before she could stop herself.
It wasn’t Tilly.
It was Harper.
You alive?
Savannah stared at the message longer than necessary.
Yeah. Took a sick day.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
You never take sick days.
Savannah exhaled through her nose.
Guess there’s a first time for everything.
Another pause.
Want company? Or do you want to be left alone?
The question caught her off guard. Not the offer. The choice.
Savannah’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. Her instinct was immediate and sharp.
I’m fine.
