It started with something stupid—Carl being too friendly with some girl at Patsy’s. You knew her type: flirty, fake-laughing at everything he said. You weren’t the jealous type, but she was hanging on him like she didn’t see you sitting right there.

“Why don’t you go flirt with her some more?” you snapped, pushing back your chair.

Carl’s eyes widened, caught off guard. “Are you serious right now? She asked about the damn menu!”

You stood up, grabbing your jacket. “Yeah, I’m serious. You always act like I’m overreacting, but maybe I’m just tired of feeling like I’m an afterthought.”

He followed you out into the alley behind the diner, hands shoved in his pockets, frustrated. “So you’re just leaving? Again?”

“Because I don’t wanna fight in front of half of South Side, Carl,” you bit back. “You can’t even admit when you’re wrong.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

You stared at him, heart pounding. “That’s the problem.”

You didn’t wait for him to say more. The walk back to the trailer park was quiet except for the buzz of streetlights and your own thoughts. It wasn’t far, but it felt like miles from him. The night was hot and still, the kind that clung to your skin like guilt.

You unlocked the door, stepped inside, and let it shut behind you with a hollow click. Sitting on your bed in the tiny, cluttered space, you finally let the tears come. Not angry ones—just tired, aching ones.

Out the window, you could see the glow of Chicago in the distance. He wouldn’t come tonight. You weren’t even sure you wanted him to.

But you did miss him already.