Sorry, sorry! I was just feeling anxious about getting back, but he’s not home. I just got in.
The typing bubble appears almost instantly.
Soren:
Good. Eat.
I stare at the message.
That same tone. That same certainty. Even from miles away.
A prickle of annoyance moves through me. He’s not even here and he’s still?—
My stomach growls. Loud. Embarrassingly loud.
I freeze.
Of course. I didn’t eat. Not at the airport. Not on the plane. I told myself I wasn’t hungry, but really I just didn’t want to deal with it.
I drop my bag in the kitchen and open the fridge, pulling something out without thinking.
I eat. Quickly at first. Then slower. And as the tension in mybody starts to ease—as that hollow feeling fades—the irritation softens with it.
I’m overthinking it again.
He’s not controlling me. He’s just… paying attention.
People need to eat. That’s not manipulation. That’s basic. Normal. Caring.
I exhale, leaning back against the counter, my phone still in my hand.
It’s fine. Everything is fine.
He’s just—better at taking care of me than I am.
And that’s not a bad thing.
Right?
Anonymous:
You don’t get to move on.
I heard you’ve been sleeping again.
That’s new.
You never used to sleep properly unless I was there.
Funny how your body forgets so quickly.
Or maybe it doesn’t.
Maybe you still wake up in the middle of the night, not knowing why your heart is racing.
Maybe something still feels unfinished.
You don’t get to replace what we had.