The phone kept buzzing, insistent, demanding. Jonathan’s name glowed on the screen like a lifeline and a curse. My hand trembled as I swiped to answer, swallowing the knot in my throat.
“Jonathan?” My voice cracked, too thin, too raw.
“Clara,” he breathed, relief flooding through the line. His voice was warm, steady, achingly familiar. “I was afraid I’d missed you. How are you, love?”
Love. The word sliced me open. A fresh wound on top of the one Liam had just carved into me.
“I’m… I’m fine,” I whispered, pressing a hand to my chest to keep it from crumbling. “Busy. Just… tired.”
Jonathan’s chuckle was soft, tender, carrying across the miles that separated us. “You always say that. You push yourself too hard.” His tone shifted, quiet, regretful. “And I’ve pushed you too hard too. Left
