I struggled with insomnia for days after Zebulon left.
Whenever I couldn't sleep, I'd call him, and he'd always listen patiently to all my rambling.
We'd fallen into a routine—he'd call me at the same time every night without fail.
But he never called that night. I picked up my phone and dialed his number.
After a few rings, a woman answered the phone. "Hello? Who's this?"
Her voice was soft and coquettish, sickly sweet to the ear.
I took a deep breath and spoke calmly, "Hi, I'm looking for Zebulon."
The woman chuckled lightly. "Zebulon's in the shower right now. I can take a message for you."
My throat tightened instantly. I couldn't find a single word to reply and hung up the phone in a hurry.
Zebulon had been gone for three months, and we'd stayed in constant contact the entire
