I wake up with the kind of headache that makes me think I deserve everything bad that’s ever happened to me. The sun’s too aggressive for a Tuesday, or whatever day it is, and there’s a sour taste in my mouth .
I reach for my phone, knock it off the nightstand, groan, fish it out from under the bed like a gremlin, and finally hit play on the voicemail that’s been haunting me for twenty-four hours straight.
“Hey, Char… I need to tell you something. I—”
Click.
That’s it. That’s all I get.
I close my eyes and feel a slow panic blooming in my chest. My heart starts skipping like it owes someone money.
Because what does he need to tell me?
Is it about her?
Is she pregnant?
Am I pregnant?
Did I catch something?
Did I GIVE someone something?
Suddenly, I’m sweating.
He knows I’m obses
