Marisol came by almost daily.
Robert called once, politely, to ask whether I needed anything.
Logan did not call.
For three days.
Then four.
On the fifth morning, my phone buzzed while Ethan slept on my chest.
Unknown number.
I stared at it.
A message appeared.
Joanna. It’s Logan.
I have rewritten this message about twenty times, which probably proves I still overthink everything.
I don’t want to intrude.
I only wanted to ask how Ethan is.
And how you are.
I waited almost an hour before replying.
He’s gaining weight.
I’m tired.
Both normal, according to the nurse.
His reply came two minutes later.
I’m glad.
Then nothing.
No apology.
No request to visit.
No pressure.
The next morning:
Did you sleep?
I wrote:
In sections.
He replied:
I remember you once said naps under ninety minutes are just interruptions.
I stared at the screen.
