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I swallow hard, trying to keep the emotion from spilling out. “I just… I want him to be okay.”

“I know, baby. Me too.”

His voice is like a balm—rough and steady, but soft where I need it most.

But then, in the background, I hear something. Movement. Footsteps. Laughter.

Then a woman’s voice—faint, but sharp enough to pierce through the fragile bubble of our conversation.

“Eddie?”

I freeze. It’s not familiar, just a voice. A woman’s voice. Saying his name.

He exhales into the phone. “Shit. I have to go.”

Just like that.

My stomach twists, even as I scramble to push it down. “Okay. Um… I love you.”

There’s a pause, and then, softer now, almost like he knows I need to hear it twice: “I love you, Laney. So much.”

The line goes dead.

I stare at the phone screen, even though the call has ended, my thumb lingering over his name, tempted to call him back—but I don’t.

Instead, I set the phone down and head upstairs like I’m walking through water.

The house feels too big tonight. Too quiet. Every creak of the floorboards feels louder in the absence of his voice.

In the bedroom, I change into one of his old shirts and pull my hair back, brushing my teeth on autopilot, staring at my reflection without really seeing it.

I hate this.

The silence.

The distance.

The not knowing.

I trust him, I do. But that voice. That voice…

It’s not even about who she is. It’s what it pulled out of me. That raw, ugly little flicker of jealousy, like a whisper in the back of my mind:He’s surrounded by beautiful people. You’re here. Alone.

I shake it off. Try to, anyway.

By the time I crawl into bed, Merlyn hops up beside me and curls against my hip with a sleepy sigh. I run my fingers through her fur and stare at the ceiling.

I miss him.

More than I ever thought possible.

And the ache in my chest isn’t just distance, it’s fear. For Joey. For Eddie. For us.

But I won’t fall apart.

Not yet.

Not while he’s still mine.