Page 53 of Unbroken

Because maybe I am talking into a void. Maybe someone will hear.

“I miss you. I miss you so much,” I whisper. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I asked you to come to that bar. I’m sorry for all of it.”

What I don’t say out loud—the secret lodged in my chest—is what I feel the most shame over: I’m sorry I’m falling in love with your husband. And now I know why you did.

“I love you.” I breathe. “So much.”

Then I hang up.

I can at least shower. Wash the day off. Wash the grief off—at least for a few minutes.

I hop in the shower. Wash my hair. Condition. Exfoliate my face with that little bottle Mariah gave me forever ago that I never even opened. Brush my teeth. Shave my legs. And, of course, I nick my ankle so bad I have to slap a Band-Aid on it and hiss through my teeth. Hurts like a motherfucker.

When I towel off, my phone buzzes onthe sink.

And just like always, I glance at it with that same irrational hope—that it might be from her. Even though I know it won’t be.

They say it’s normal. That grief does that to you.

But I’m so tired of this part.

I swipe.

It’s Vadka.

My heart flinches.

I miss her.

Vadka

Hey, where have you been? We miss you. Are you all right?

We.

They miss me.

Not just Luka.

Vadka does.

Of course he does. I’m the living thread to his dead wife. The only connection left.

I don’t resent him for it, but I do wish he missed me, not just who I represent and the comfort that might bring.

I type back:

Hey, I’m good. Just working a lot, getting some things done. Need to get a haircut.

Vadka

And an oil change.

I can practically hear his voice. That low, rich sound that’s starting to haunt my dreams. We’re talking about haircuts and oil changes. The next thing up, we’ll talk about the weather or maybe the price of milk.God.

An oil change.

I smirk.