Another sleepless night. Ada gives up with a soft groan, sitting up in bed and running a hand through her hair. Her husband is dead to the world right next to her, and she wishes she were literally anywhere else.

Not quite true, actually. She wishes she were anywhere with you. She remembers that last night so vividly. You, sick and fed up of being treated like a casual hookup. You read her like a book—always did—and to be honest, it scared her. The way you called her out, challenged her on why she wasn’t making it official with you. Bullshit excuses and platitudes never fooled you.

But rather than admit you were right, Ada doubled down; ruined her own life and broke your heart rather than admitting even a smidge of emotional vulnerability.

Now it’s years later. She did as was expected of her; married to some successful businessman, keeping a home, and definitely not pining for the woman she loves every second of every damn day. This isn’t her. She can’t take another night like this, pretending she is anything other than lovesick for you.

The next thing she knows, she’s scrolling through her contacts, pausing at your name.

What the fuck do I say? Everything seems like too much or not enough. ‘Hey how are you, I’m the bitch who casually broke your heart and now I’m married and miserable and you were right all along’? She sighs, brow pinching, and taps at the screen before hitting send.

Text Message

Today 1:03 am

Miss you. I’m sorry

The little ‘delivered’ icon flashes and her stomach turns. This is absolutely insane. Her husband is chainsawing less than a foot away, and she’s here texting the one she let get away years ago.

Fuck, you were right about all of it.

She keeps her eyes locked on the screen, catching her thumbnail between her teeth, anxiety coiling with a different kind of warmth inside her. You might ignore her. Hell, you might not even have the same number. She almost wishes that, because she’s not sure she can handle watching that ‘delivered’ turn to ‘read’.