I don’t hang up.
I don’t know why. Pride should make me. Self preservation. Closure. Something sensible.
Instead, I sit there in my car outside the café, engine off, hands still on the steering wheel, phone pressed to my ear like this is still normal.
Like he didn’t just reappear in my life after eight months of silence.
“I didn’t mean to call,” Ethan says again.
His voice sounds the same. Calm. Controlled. But thinner. Like something inside him is tired.
“Then why did you?” I ask.
It comes out softer than I want. I hate that. I clear my throat, but it doesn’t fix anything.
Silence stretches.
Then—
“Because I’m leaving.”
I blink. “Leaving where?”
“Miami.”
That part feels… manageable. People leave cities all the time.
Then he adds, quieter, heavier.
“For good.”
My grip tight
