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"But I'm definitely getting to it. Promise. Just need a couple more days to—"
"Totally fine." My voice comes out flat. Dead. "Take your time."
"Appreciate it. I'll hit you up when I—"
I end the call.
I stare at his name on the screen. I'm so disappointed in him—more than I thought I'd be. More than I should be, maybe. But the weight of it settles heavily in my chest, mixing with everything else. The frustration. The fear. The exhaustion of constantly bracing for the next disaster.
I'm disappointed with the whole world, actually. With how nothing ever seems to work the way it's supposed to. With howpeople make promises they don't keep, how they let you down when you need them most.
Why is my life such an absolute disaster? What the hell did I ever do to deserve any of this godforsaken nightmare? Every single time I think things might be looking up, might be getting even slightly better, something else crashes down on top of me like a ton of bricks.
I hurl the phone at the wall.
It hits with a satisfying crack, bounces off, and lands on the rug.
The sob comes out of nowhere. Rips through my chest like something tearing free. I pull my knees up, bury my face against them, and let it all pour out.
Everything. Daniel. The email. The threats. Julian in danger because of me.
Claudia, still missing.
Raine, giving me excuses while a girl's life hangs in the balance.
My body shakes. I can't stop. Can't breathe through it.
Can't do anything but cry.
I drag myself off the couch an hour later, eyes swollen, throat raw. Work. I have to go to work.
The shift drags. Every minute feels like ten. I keep checking my phone, waiting for... I don't even know what. A miracle, maybe.
When I finally push through Julian's front door at eleven, the apartment is dark.
"Julian?"
Nothing.
I flip on the lights. His keys aren't on the hook by the door. No jacket draped over the chair. No shoes kicked off in the hall.
Weird. He should be home by now—his gig at the piano bar ended at ten.
I check my phone. No texts.
He probably stopped somewhere. Grabbed a drink with a coworker or something.
I'm peeling off my jacket when my phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
My stomach tightens, but I answer anyway. "Hello?"
"Is this Liza Singh?”
"Yeah, who's—"
"This is Maine Medical Center. You're listed as the emergency contact for Julian Ramirez.”
