I wondered whether she was happier without me.
And most nights, I reminded myself that loving someone did not give me the right to demand a place in their life.
Then, one Friday evening, Daniel called.
I nearly dropped my phone.
“Hey,” I answered cautiously.
“Are you busy?”
“Not particularly.”
“Good. I need to talk to you.”
His voice sounded different. Not angry, exactly. Just tired.
“What’s going on?”
“Can you meet me at the old overlook? In an hour?” I looked toward my window. Rain was beginning to fall over the city.
“Sure.”
He hung up without saying goodbye.
For the next hour, I considered every possible reason he might want to see me. None of them ended particularly well.
When I arrived, Daniel was standing beside his car, staring at the city lights. He had his hands buried in his jacket pockets, and his shoulders looked heavier than I remembered.
I walked toward him.
“What’s up?”
