The phone rang again.
Not loud. Not urgent.
Just enough to pull her breath short.
Rose reached for it slowly, her fingers hesitant, her heart already tight. When she saw Travis on the screen, a small, hopeful thought flickered inside her chest. Maybe he wanted to meet. Maybe a walk.
She answered.
"Hello."
Silence.
She could hear his breathing. Slow. Controlled.
Then his voice—careful, distant—
"Rose… I think we need a break."
The words landed softly.
Too softly.
That was what hurt.
Her body went still, as if even movement would make it real.
He kept talking, filling the space she didn't.
"I've been thinking a lot. And I don't think long-distance relationships work. Not like this. Not for us."
A pause.
"I don't want to hurt you later."
Later.
As if this moment wasn't already doing it.
The room seemed to shrink. The walls pressed closer. The air felt heavier in her lungs.
She searched for words—any words—but her mind had gone eerily quiet.
No anger.
No tears.
Just a hollow ringing where her thoughts should have been.
Seconds passed. Maybe minutes.
Finally, she spoke.
"Okay."
Her voice didn't sound like hers.
"If that's what you want… it's your call."
She waited. Part of her hoped he'd stop her. Correct himself. Say her name the way he used to—soft, certain.
He didn't.
So she ended the call.
The screen went dark.
The phone slipped from her hand onto the bed beside her. She stared at the wall in front of her, the same crack she had been watching earlier, but now it felt unfamiliar. Sharp. Heavy.
She didn't ask "why".
She didn't ask "when".
She didn't beg.
Instead, questions crowded her mind in silence.
"Did something happen?"
"Was he already gone before the call?"
"Or was I too far even before I left?"
The evening passed without her noticing.
She stayed in her room, the door closed, memories opening like wounds she hadn't prepared for—childhood laughter, shared secrets, his hand in hers, the way he used to look at her like she was home.
Her chest ached, but no tears came.
At dinner, she sat quietly at the table.
Her mother smiled softly. "How do you want to spend your remaining week with us, Rose?"
Her brother Steve grinned. "We should take her somewhere. One last family trip before she becomes a big university genius."
They laughed.
Rose didn't.
She stared at her plate, appetite gone, heart heavy with something she couldn't name. Then, finally, she spoke.
"I think I'll leave early," she said.
The table fell silent.
Her parents looked at her in surprise. "Early?" her father asked. "Why, sweetheart?"
Rose lifted her eyes slowly, her voice steady but distant.
"I just… think it's better."
That was all.
No one pushed further.
No one asked more. No one knew how. But the words stayed suspended in the air—heavy, unanswered, painful.
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