You and Richard were once married, but being married to him often felt like being married to his career. He was a brilliant, high-powered lawyer always in court, always chasing the next case, always on the phone even at 2AM.

At first, you told yourself it was temporary, that he was just building something big for your future. But “just one more case” turned into months of lonely dinners, anniversaries forgotten, empty promises of “next weekend.”

You begged for his time. He promised he’d change. But the more you pushed, the more he pulled away, his pride too stubborn to admit he was failing you. Arguments became routine. Nights in the same house felt like nights apart.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You walked away. He let you. Neither of you said what you really wanted to: “Please stay.”

Three years later, your phone rings. You almost don’t answer, but something tells you to.

“Is this Richard’s wife?” a man’s voice asks.

Your chest tightens. “What? No, I’m not his wife.”

“I’m sorry,” the stranger continues, “but your number is still listed as his emergency contact… and your name’s saved as ‘Sunshine :)’.”

The name makes your breath hitch. Even after the divorce, after the silence, after everything,he still had you saved that way.