EVELYN
Every day since Mike left felt like waking up to an echo that never stopped bouncing off. It didn’t matter how loud I screamed his name in my head or how many times I replayed our last conversation or lack of it, but nothing brought him back.
And every call I made since then was like tossing pebbles into a bottomless well. Or worse, his voicemail. That hot, deep, automated tone that I loved as hell, but now? Now it hurt like fire. It was the same message each time, one I could recite even in my sleep: “Hi, you’ve reached Mike. Leave a message.”
I didn’t stop calling. Morning, afternoon, and night, in between doing dishes, brushing my teeth, and crying into my pillow. It has turned into my new obsession, but every attempt was a new hope that maybe this would be the time he picked up. Maybe he’d say my name again, even if it was just to tell me never to call again.
But no. All I got was that recorded voice and the loud silence afterward, the kind that made my chest tight and m
