On the second day, I tried calling again.
Straight to voicemail.
I nearly contacted my friends to admit they’d been right.
But something held me back.
Perhaps embarrassment.
Or perhaps I couldn’t bear hearing them congratulate themselves.
On the third day, I noticed a note Skyla had attached to my refrigerator weeks earlier.
EAT BREAKFAST BEFORE YOUR MEETING. COFFEE IS NOT BREAKFAST.
Underneath, she’d drawn a ridiculously bad little egg.
I stood staring at it.
That small gesture didn’t match the selfish woman I’d imagined.
Neither did the evenings she’d spent helping me practice presentations.
Or the afternoon she’d driven across town simply because I’d mentioned feeling lonely.
None of those gestures had required much money.
Yet I had barely appreciated them.
By the fourth day, I felt no satisfaction.
Instead, I checked my phone hourly.
I didn’t know where Skyla was.
But I also recognized that demanding an explanation from her was hypocritical when I’d invented something so serious.
