For a brief moment, I wonder if he's ever looked up my name, scrolled through my photos, and thought about what could have been. The thought makes me scoff. Gabe moved on. He had to. It's what he does, isn't it? Still, my fingers hover over my phone, partaking in my delusion of him having blocked my number. Part of me wants to call him, to demand answers to questions I have no right to ask anymore. But I know better. Reopening old wounds won't change the past. Instead, I sit on the edge of my bed, clutching my phone tightly, ignoring the man's sleeping form next to me.
My thumb brushes over Gabe's contact, and I consider texting him, but I know it won't be delivered. With a deep breath, I set the phone aside. Tomorrow is a new day. I'll tell Avrielle about Cassandra and share my thoughts with someone who might understand. Or I'll let this moment fade, like so many others before it. Because as much as it hurts, I know one thing for certain: life goes on. It always does