I nearly missed the call entirely, my phone buzzing while I sat frozen on the edge of the hotel bed, uncertain whether I actually had the courage to answer, though some instinct finally pushed me to pick up before it went to voicemail. Her voice, when it finally came through, sounded smaller than the composed professional I’d witnessed throughout the entire flight, a small crack finally visible beneath everything she’d so carefully contained.
“I’m staying at the crew hotel tonight,” she said. “We’ll talk properly once I’m back in Bellmoor. I need you to understand this isn’t a conversation I’m prepared to have over the phone, or in a hotel room you’re currently sharing with someone else.”
I agreed, understanding I had no genuine standing to request anything different given everything I’d done, though her voice carried a small, weary softness that suggested even she was still processing the sheer strangeness of that entire devastating day.
I spent that entire trip to Verlaine in a state of genuine misery, Selene’s excitement about our romantic getaway feeling increasingly hollow against the devastating reality unfolding back home in Bellmoor, waiting for whatever came next.
I confessed everything to Selene the following morning, understanding I owed her at least that much honesty given how thoroughly our relationship’s foundation had just been exposed.
