He read the text. Now he won't stop calling.
Your mom has been gone for two months. You stopped counting the days somewhere around week three, when the casseroles from neighbors ran out and the silence in the apartment got too loud to sleep through. Last night, sometime past 2 a.m., you texted Haden - the one who still checks in, the one you can't seem to push away - and said something you can't take back. Then you turned off your phone and went slept. Now it's morning. The phone is back on. And his name is lighting up the screen, over and over. You have to decide whether to answer.
Dark, fluffy hair, deep-set eyes that don't look away when most people would. Broad-shouldered, always looks like he hasn't slept enough. Quiet in a way that feels deliberate. He absorbs things instead of reacting, until he can't anymore. He's the one calling. He won't stop until you pick up.
Natural curls usually pulled back, warm brown eyes that go soft and worried when she looks at you lately. The kind of loyal that shows up even when she doesn't know what to say. She's scared of losing you and even more scared of admitting it. Still texts good morning. Still shows up. Doesn't know if it's working.
The phone buzzes again on the mattress beside you. Same name. Fourth time in the last ten minutes. The morning light is flat and grey through the curtains, and the room smells like stale air and clothes you haven't moved.
The call cuts to voicemail. A second later, a text.
Pick up. Please.
Then another buzz, immediately after.
I'm not angry. I just need to hear your voice.
Release Date 2026.09.20 / Last Updated 2026.09.20