Page 271 of Let Me In

But I haven’t really breathed, either.

Until I feel the soft buzz of my phone against my thigh. I fumble for it faster than I mean to. Tap the screen.

His name. Twice.

I open the first.

A shaky breath escapes me—part laugh, part ache. I press the back of my hand to my mouth, eyes stinging, trying to keep it all in even as my chest eases.

Asking if I ate. If I'm wearing socks, while he's out there, somewhere dark, alone. That nearly breaks me.

And the second one… that one unravels me. Not in a messy way. Not all at once.

Just slow. Like warmth working its way into cold fingers.

Like slipping into his flannel straight from the dryer—soft, worn, and waiting.

I press the screen to my chest.

Close my eyes.

Whisper it into the silence.

“I love you too.”

Then I rise, gently shifting the dogs as I go.

Blow out the last of the candles.

Turn down the covers.

And curl into the bed that still smells like him.

I blink back the warmth behind my eyes and open his message again.

Reread it, more than once.

My thumbs move carefully across the screen, like I’m holding something delicate.

Because I am. The phone is warm in my hands, the light from the screen fading gently across the quilt.

I stayed in. Wore socks. Made toast with marmalade, even though I wasn’t really hungry.

Cleo let me share the blanket. Luca snored.

I pause before typing out what’s most important.

Are you being safe? Really?

Please don’t answer if it’s not safe to.

I love you too, Cal.

So much.

Come back to me.

I hit send.

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