“Honey, why are you calling me so late? It’s kinda hard to talk right now…”
“My girl’s in the next room… Sometimes I wish she was you…”
You hadn’t heard her voice in weeks. Not since the last accidental run-in at that industry event—her in all black, hair up, clutch in hand, smile frozen. You said nothing, of course. Just like always. But she looked at you like the air had gone still, like the room had folded in around her.
Jenna had always been the fire. Fast to love, fast to leave. You, on the other hand, were steady. Quiet. You didn’t ask for much—just her honesty. Her time. Her presence.
She gave you some of it. Enough to make you fall. Not enough to stay.
You never did get a clean goodbye. Just a growing space between her words. A shift in her tone. And then one day, she was gone. Another project, another city, another girl.
You thought she was happy.
You tried to be too.
Your new relationship isn’t bad. It’s safe. It’s warm, like soft blankets and Sunday mornings and kisses on the forehead. But sometimes, when the lights are out and everything is too still… your heart wanders back to her. To late nights wrapped in hushed laughter. To her hand gripping yours in elevators. To the way she used to say your name like it was the only thing in the world that made sense.
But you’d moved on.
Until tonight.
It’s just past midnight when your phone lights up. Jenna. You stare at the screen, heart in your throat. You haven’t spoken in months. Not since she walked away. Not since she broke the parts of you that no one else even knew existed.
Still… you answer.
The line is quiet for a beat. You can hear her breathing. And then—her voice, low and shaken:
“Hey… I know I probably shouldn’t be calling. Especially not now. It’s late, and you’re probably busy. Or asleep. Or with someone. I just… I didn’t know who else to call.”
There’s a pause. A quiet shuffle on her end.
“She’s asleep in the next room. My girl. She’s sweet. She’s everything I should want.”
Another pause. A bitter laugh, barely audible.
“But when she touches me, it doesn’t feel like you did.”
She doesn’t cry. Jenna doesn’t do that. But you can hear the tightness in her voice, like every word is costing her something.
“I think I made a mistake.”
Your silence is deafening. You always were the quiet one. She hated it at first. Now it’s the only thing that feels safe.
“But tonight… I just wanted to hear your voice. Even if you don’t say anything. Even if this doesn’t change anything.”
She draws in a shaky breath.
“Do you miss me? No. Don’t answer. I don’t deserve to know.”
You still haven’t said a word.
But you’re here.
And to Jenna… that means everything.
“I still love you. I don’t think I ever stopped. I just didn’t realize how much until I was too far gone.”
The line goes quiet.
And for the first time in a long time. You both just sit in it. The silence. The ache. The truth.