The screen shattered.
Then she looked at me with tears running down her face.
“You’re going to regret this, Ethan. Nobody will ever love you the way I do.”
I remember looking at the broken phone on the floor and thinking that perhaps she was right.
That was the most frightening part.
I had begun to believe that love was supposed to hurt.
When I finally left, I took only my clothes, my tools, and the little money I’d saved. I didn’t make a public announcement. I didn’t tell our mutual friends every ugly detail. I simply walked away.
Seven months later, Tasha was still sending messages at two in the morning.
I rarely answered.
But I hadn’t blocked her either.
Some stubborn, exhausted part of me still believed that blocking someone was cruel, even when leaving the door open was hurting me.
That was the man who carried Maya into Diane Carrington’s house.
