I glanced at the string of messages I’d sent Lucien over the past two days, ever since that woman had appeared in his office unannounced—each one left unanswered. My chest tightened with the cruel familiarity of déjà vu, a replay of Jacob: the unanswered calls, the silent absences, the gnawing uncertainty.
I looked at the essay sitting on my bedside table, wondering if I’d written it well enough considering that, the whole time, Lucien had been in the back of my mind. I was hungry—so hungry—but instead of eating, I found myself scrolling through my messages with him again and again, in the darkness of my room, heart sinking deeper each time.
SaturdayMe: Let me know who that woman is. I deserve an explanation. Me: I cannot believe you’re about to ghost me again.
SundayMe: Don’t ever spe
