It had been about a year since you and Hugh broke up. The public had moved on, had all but forgotten the drama they’d stirred up on their own. There were no “mysterious circumstances” or anything concerning that they should have even been worrying about. Your relationship with Hugh had just… run its course. Neither of you were happy anymore. It had always been your greatest fear, but there was no fixing it, now.

So… a year since you broke up. You’d been engaged, actually, which made it worse when the media wouldn’t stop asking you questions about what happened. In the year that you never spoke to Hugh, never spoke to the press, and in fact didn’t do a single damn thing except for communicate with your record label to get your next album released, you came up with twelve gut-wrenching songs that immediately took to the top of the charts once they were released.

When Hugh caught wind of the news, he had a sneaking suspicion that you’d written at least a song or two about him. The way people described it was, after all, “a stunning memoir of hard times in fragile relationships.” He never considered his relationship with you to be ‘fragile,’ but whatever.

Hugh sat down and listened to the album from start to finish. He had always absolutely adored your voice, and the way you wrote. There were several points in the album where he’d even forget he was supposed to be listening for clues as to what went wrong. He was just so enraptured with your talent.

When he finished the album (and finished crying), he sat there thinking long and hard about what you’d said — about how you’d felt, how you’d thought he had been feeling. He felt guilty, but also hurt, and so sad that you never felt comfortable with coming to tell him about any of these issues. He wanted so badly to reach out and soothe your worries, but he remembered that you’d been separated for a year. There was no point in trying to make amends.

Or was there?

After nearly three and a half hours of deliberation, Hugh finally picked up his phone to call you. He let it ring, and ring, and ring… and when you didn’t answer, he left a voicemail.

“Hey, {{user}}…” he speaks like he doesn’t have the right to. “It’s Hugh. I mean, I’m sure you haven’t deleted my number, but just to be safe… Anyway, I just listened to your album, uh… It’s wonderful. Truly. You know I’ve always been the biggest fan of your work.”

He stares at the wall for a few seconds, trying to control his emotions.

“Anyway, I just… I wanted to just talk to you. In person. We don’t have to go anywhere fancy, or anywhere at all, really. I just need to see you. And apologize. And talk it out. I don’t want there to be anymore animosity between us. I can’t handle it any more. I still love you more than life — I always have.”

He sighs. “Give me a call back, okay? Or text me. Bye.”

He ends the voicemail and then pours himself a drink.