Her thumb hovers over his name.
Julian Hart.
Top of recent calls. One missed. One unanswered. One that never rang because she ended it before she could hear the rejection echo.
The hospital room is dimmer now, late afternoon light slipping into gray. The monitor beside her keeps its steady rhythm, impartial to hesitation.
She presses his name.
The screen shifts to dialing.
Her pulse spikes instantly, a betrayal of nerves she thought she’d disciplined. The first fraction of a second stretches—anticipation, dread, hope compressed into a single inhale.
She ends the call before it can connect.
The silence afterward is sharper than a voicemail would have been.
Her hand trembles once, then stills. She locks the screen and sets the phone facedown on the tray table, as if the device itsel
