I cover my stomach.
I cry.
Morning sucks.
Grayson left before I woke up.
No lunch visit.
No texts.
No reply to mine.
By the end of the day, my hands won’t stop trembling. My stomach turns every five minutes like it’s ready to puke up air.
Charlotte, you idiot.
It was going so well.
Why’d I have to push back? Why couldn’t I just nod and cancel the stupid gym?
Some damn yoga class? Some random trainer?
Grayson kissed my stomach. Touched me like he adores me. Told me I was perfect.
And I ruined it.
When I get home, I knock on his door.
Nothing.
“Grayson? Can we talk? Please?”
Silence. A locked door. A locked heart.
I check on Atticus and make him dinner, then go straight to my room and cry into my pillow like a pathetic loser.
I can’t sleep. I just wait in the dark, praying my doorknob turns. Praying he’ll hold me again.
But he doesn’t.
It’s like we broke up, except we were never together.
And I still have to live with him.
So when the next morning arrives, I’m determined to fix it.
I get up extra early, and make him breakfast. His eyes flick to the plate, then me.
I give a cautious, hopeful smile, holding my breath, praying he sits down.
Nothing. Just leaves.
Therefore, all day, I have the same sick feeling. Same silence. Same missing himsobad it feels like he died. Like the best moments of my life were all a fantasy.
When I get home, his truck is missing, but something new catches my eye.
His phone.
