Page 130 of California Wild

No hum of voices from the living room. No shifting footsteps. No open cabinet doors or running tap. Just stillness. That hollow kind of silence that wrapped around you when you were alone.

Hayley swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet hitting the hardwood.

The apartment felt too big all of a sudden.

She moved slowly, instinctively holding her belly—though it wasn’t showing yet, it was there. It was always there now. A soft flutter of weight and fear beneath her ribs.

The bathroom light was off. She peeked in anyway.

Empty.

Her heart started to beat faster.

She wandered down the hall toward the kitchen, one hand pressed to the wall like she needed something to hold her up.

“Jesse?” she called softly.

No answer.

The kitchen was dark.

No open fridge. No Jesse leaning against the counter with a glass of water and a crooked grin, saying, What’s with the face, babe?

Just stillness. Stillness and cold countertops and the low hum of the fridge.

She stared at the space where he should be.

And suddenly—panic.

It hit hard. Fast. Like a memory that stabbed instead of bloomed.

He wasn’t here.

Again.

And her mind, traitorous and tired, whispered the worst thing it could:

Maybe this never happened.

Maybe the past few weeks—him coming back, holding her, making her breakfast, singing on that fucking stage—maybe that had been the dream.

Maybe she’d imagined the way he held her like she was his. The way he whispered stay with me like he meant it. The way he touched her like it wrecked him.

Maybe she’d made it all up to cope with being alone.

Because that’s what she was now.

Alone.

The bathroom light flickered behind her as she leaned against the counter, grabbing her phone off the charger with shaking fingers.

She opened their thread. Nothing new.

Typed:

Where are you?

Waited.

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