My chest felt tight. Like someone had wrapped rubber bands around my ribs and kept twisting.
I hated this. Hated that two months of silence could get erased by five text messages. Hated that part of me, the stupid kid part that never quite grew up, wanted to respond. Wanted to hear her voice. Wanted her to explain why she left us like we were furniture she didn't need anymore.
Another buzz.
I pulled out my phone. Looked at the screen.
i made a mistake leaving like that. i should have said goodbye properly. i should have made sure you both were okay first.
Should have.
Past tense. Conditional. The grammar of regret that changes nothing.
My thumb hovered over the keyboard. I typed one word.
why
Sent it before I could delete it.
The response came back in under thirty seconds.
because i was drowning isaiah. because every time i looked at you and iris i saw him. your father. and i couldnt breathe anymore.
Him.
