I called her again.
And again.
And again.
Each time, the answer was the same: a hollow, mechanical voice telling me the number I was trying to reach was unavailable. Eventually, the recording started to sound like mockery, a taunt that mirrored the twisting panic inside me.
By the time the lunch bell rang, my thumb ached from pressing redial. Not that it stopped me.
I tried one more time as I walked into the cafeteria.
Same result.
I shoved my phone into my pocket, jaw clenched so tight it hurt, and pretended I didn’t notice Marianne waving me over. Her smile was too bright, too eager, like she had been rehearsing it. Like she believed we still had a version of normal between us. I didn’t have the energy to correct her.
I walked over anyway.
And sat down anyway.
Because pretendin
