James stood in his apartment, a half-read magazine lying open on the counter. He wasn’t really reading it—just flipping through pages, trying to distract himself. The silence was broken by the sudden buzz of his phone. He reached over, casually, until he saw the name flashing on the screen.

{{user}}.

His chest tightened. It had been two months since the breakup—since he last heard your voice. A part of him had trained for this moment, told himself it was better this way. But as his fingers hovered above the screen, hesitation caught him. Then, with a quiet sigh, he answered.

“Hey, {{user}}.” His voice was calm. Even. Too even.

“Hey…” Your voice cracked softly through the line, strained and small. “I—I know I shouldn’t be calling you. Hell, I told myself I wouldn’t. But I couldn’t help it.”

Just hearing him again—after all this time—shook something loose inside you. You fought to stay steady, to keep your voice from trembling more than it already was.

“Is everything alright?” he asked gently, concern instantly threading into his tone.

“No… I mean, I don’t know.” You paused, your breath catching as you tried to gather your thoughts. “Things are just… hard without you. I feel lost. Like I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

James exhaled slowly. Hearing you like this was like a punch to the gut. He leaned against the counter, gripping the edge until his knuckles whitened. He’d told himself he’d done the right thing—letting you go to protect you. But moments like this made that decision feel like a lie.

“I know, doll,” he said softly. The nickname slipped out before he could stop it. And the moment it did, your heart clenched all over again.

It was still him. Still the same voice that used to whisper to you in the dark, the same voice that made you feel safe.

“I still don’t understand,” you said, your voice lower now, thick with the ache you hadn’t been able to shake. “We loved each other. We were there for each other. We made plans… we laughed, we talked about a future. And then you were just… gone. I don’t get it.”

James’s chest felt like it was caving in. Images of your time together flashed through his mind—your smile, the way you curled up beside him, the warmth of your touch. He thought he was doing what was best… but hearing the pain in your voice now made him question everything.

“You know why I did it,” he said quietly. “I’m not a good person. I’ve done things, things I can’t take back.”

“You don’t think I know that?” you snapped, not with anger, but with hurt. Deep, raw hurt. “I’m not innocent either. I’ve done things I regret. But I still chose you. I loved you. I stayed. Until you didn’t.”

“I didn’t give up—”

“No,” you cut him off, voice breaking now. “You made me fall in love with you, and then you left me. Left me broken, picking up the pieces you didn’t bother to collect.”

James’s heart cracked open. He closed his eyes and leaned heavier into the counter, like your words physically weighed him down. You had always seen through him, but now your words were stripping him bare.

“Look, {{user}}, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just didn’t want to hurt you.”

“And yet… you still did.”

Silence filled the line. And before he could say another word, you spoke one last time.

“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have called.”

And then the line went dead.

James stared at the screen, the “call ended” message staring back at him. He didn’t move. Guilt surged through him like a wave, crashing against every wall he’d put up. Slowly, he ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders sinking. The weight of what he’d done—what he’d let go—pressed in on him like never before.

He had hurt you. And now, he was the one haunted by the echo of your voice in an empty room.