Your phone buzzed against the coffee table. Again.

Then again.

You’d silenced it twice already. Turned it face-down. Stuffed it between couch cushions. But the vibration was insistent, relentless—a heartbeat you couldn’t escape.

You knew the name lighting up the screen without looking.

Wes.

Third breakup in a year. Same fight. Same silent treatment from him that lasted four days, then the calls started. First one a day. Then five. Then texts—short, biting, knowing.

I see you’re home.

Did you change your hair? Looks good.

You’re not sleeping. I can tell.

The phone buzzed again. Longer this time. A call.

Your thumb hovered. Then, before you could stop yourself, you swiped to answer.