DISCLAIMER: This website contains Amazon affiliate links, which means that if you click on one of the product links, we will receive a small commission.

Three more months by Sarah Echevarria really you’re coming home. The disbelieving hope in her tone, causes my heart to squeeze against my chest, something this simple something this silly shouldn’t bring so much joy, but it does because it’s her. You were right. Yesterday, when you said I need a break, I say it would do me some good to go home and spend some time with you and I promise I won’t bring any work with me. Oh, I would love that I’ll cook your favorite poo doo it’ll be ready.

The minute you get home, how does fried rice with wonton sound my mouth waters, it just dimension that sounds perfect I’ll be home Friday around five. Is that okay, of course, that’s okay, you never have to choose a time to come home. A knock you’re always welcome. Whenever you want, you know that I nod and smile at the serious tone of her reminder. Right, of course, I’m so happy you’re coming she practically squeals.

In the background, I see one of her co-workers jump at her and screech me too mom I better get going, though my break’s almost over she nods before waving a hand at me. Yes, yes, hurry up and go home, so you can get some sleep. You need sleep too. Mom promise you’ll get at least seven hours after your shift tonight. I steal myself for the scolding she’s about to give me for daring to lecture her on sleep yet again, but to my surprise, she nods in agreement.

Yes, I promise to love you, mom love, you too, she waves goodbye and we end the call. I power through the final hours of my shift, then drive home as I wash my face and brush my teeth, a wave of sadness crashes at my feet. Then slowly engulfs my legs, my chest, my arms, and my head. It’S so strong that my hand holding the toothbrush stills I bite down on the head until my teeth ache. No more using work is an excuse.

I need to go home more often, I only live three hours less than three hours away. I burrow into my bedsheets wheeling the remaining guilt away, as I press my eyes shut, I’m going home this weekend. That’S a start! The shrill ring of my phone jolts me awake slowly. I reached for my cell phone, which is sitting on the nightstand.

Next to my bed, I squint at the alarm clock right next to it. 507. Is it andy? Why in the world, is he calling me so early? I take a second to clear my throat and then answer hey.

What’S up Chloe, he sounds out of breath when he says my name. I wait for him to say more, but there’s no response, just a shaky breath. Andy is everything. Okay, are you? Can you please sit down?

Another shaky breath bursts out of him. The sound causes every nerve inside of me to stand on edge, it’s hard to place how or even why since he said so little, but something isn’t right. He’S never once acted like this. On the phone, breathless nervous, and scared. There’S a strangled noise.

Then silence. Are you choking, I say, as I sit up in bed, there’s a tremor in my voice. If this is a joke, I’m going to strangle him when i see him in person this weekend, he breathes and I let out a huff of air and relief. I wait. One second then another.

Finally, he speaks no, I’m not his voice, breaks crap, andy, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to go off on you. My heart is studying at a million miles an hour as he sobs about what the hell is going on. Are you sitting down? He asks again his tone is that distorted wine it takes on whenever he’s speaking and trying not to cry.

I haven’t heard it in years. Not since our grandma died, andy’s, panic and sudden burst of tears can only mean one thing. Something is very, very wrong either with him or terror lands in the form of an invisible punch square. In the center of my chest, it’s agony to breathe. I can’t speculate any longer.

I need to know. What’S going on? Yes, I’m sitting. What’S going on, I grip. The edge of the bed with my free hand, it’s like my body, knows something is about to fall apart in the worst way right in front of me, and I’m going to need to hold on andy still says nothing.

My heart thunders. What is

More From This Category