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I'm holding a pillow.

For a moment, I don't understand. I stare at it, my arms wrapped around it so tightly that my fingers hurt.

“Dami?”

Silence.

I turn my head towards his side of the bed.

Empty.

And my heart breaks all over again.

“No.”

I bury my face in the pillow and cry, holding it against my chest as the familiar ache spreads through me. It hurts to breathe, knowing that only a moment ago I could feel his arms around me, his lips against mine and even smell his familiar scent. He was so real that I press my face deeper into the pillow, desperately searching for any trace of him, but there's nothing.

When I finally lift my head, his side of the bed is still perfectly made, just as it always is. I still can't bring myself to sleep there.

“How did you know?” I whisper into the empty room. “Are you seeing it all?”

There's no answer, of course. I know there won't be one, but I find myself waiting anyway, wishing I could hear his voice just one more time.

Maybe it was just a dream.

I close my eyes and touch my fingers to my lips. I can still remember the warmth of his kiss, the way his hands felt against my skin and the sound of his voice when he called me vita mia.

“I love you, vita mia,” I whisper.

Eventually, I push the covers aside and force myself out of bed, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand.

I groan. I'm not in Chicago anymore. I'm in Lander, Wyoming, and tonight I'm going to a freaking karaoke night for my birthday.

Happy fucking birthday to me.

***

By seven thirty, I realize I've been lied to.

“Only a small cake,” I say slowly.

Chiara avoids my eyes as she applies another coat of mascara.

“Hmm?”

“Lily said there would only be a small cake.”

“There will be.”

“Then why did Penny text you three times asking what I'm wearing?”

“Maybe she's interested in fashion.”

I stare at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. “And why did Grace ask if we're almost there?”

“Impatient?”

“And why did Summer send you a picture of balloons and then immediately delete it?”