Leighton woke to sunlight stabbing through her cheap curtains.
Her phone lay face-down on the nightstand. She stared at it like it might explode.
Last night came rushing back. His voice. Her hands. The things she'd said. The sounds she'd made.
Her stomach twisted.
She grabbed the phone. Pulled up his photo, the photo she'd never deleted stared back at her. Him in his kitchen, unaware she was watching. Soft morning light. Almost smiling.
She'd given him power again. Let him back in with nothing but his voice and two words: *I miss you*.
Pathetic.
Her thumb hovered over the delete button. She'd done this before. Blocked him. Deleted him. Then saved his number again like an addict keeping a dealer's contact "just in case."
Not this time.
She pressed block. Watched his name turn red.
