Abbie buried herself in work, in lectures, in anything that kept her from thinking too long.
It was easier to measure her life in shifts and deadlines than in what-ifs.
Her mornings began before sunrise, lab coat over coffee breath, her notebook already open before Dr. Fournier arrived. She ran soil tests, typed reports, analyzed data until her hands smelled like iron and chalk.
The noise helped. The work helped.Thinking did not.
The first message came the next evening.
What’s up?
She read it twice, then locked her phone without replying.
The second came two days later.
You’ve gone quiet. Talk to me?
She almost smiled at that. Gone quiet. As if he had ever known what her silence sounded like.
He called once that weekend. She let it ring until it stopped.
By the third call, she h
