Page 56 of Unleashed
With a deep inhale, I bury my hands deeper in my coat pockets and turn to head home. That’s when I hear it, a bark, a sound I’d recognize anywhere. “Luna,” I whisper as my body goes rigid. “Luna?” The world tilts as I whip around. For a split second, the park blurs—trees, benches, strangers—and then she’s there. A golden streak tearing across the grass, ears flapping, eyes bright.
“Oh, my God, Luna.” A sob rips out of me before I can stop it. I drop to my knees in the dirt, arms wide, and she barrels straight into me with all her weight. I clutch her tight, burying my face in her fur, inhaling the familiar warmth, the comfort that smells like home. Tears stream down my cheeks as I press frantic kisses to her head. “My Luna-bug,” I cry, shaking and laughing all at once. “Oh, Luna, my sweet girl. I missed you so much.”
Her tail wags furiously, her tongue lapping at my chin, her whines echoing my own desperation. She wriggles, circles me, pushes her head into my chest as if she’s just as starved for thisas I am. When I finally lift my head, breath hitching, my gaze darts wildly around the park. Because if Luna’s here…then so is he. He has to be.
I wipe at my wet cheeks, scanning the benches, the path that snakes toward the fountain, the clusters of people drifting home as the sun bleeds out behind the skyline. My pulse hammers so hard I can feel it in my fingertips, in the dirt pressed into my knees.
“Isaia?” The whisper slips out before I can stop it, barely louder than the rustle of the branches above me.
Nothing.
The park is calm, almost too calm, the kind of stillness that sharpens every sound—the creak of the swings, the distant thud of a basketball, Luna’s soft whines as she noses my stomach like she knows something sacred is inside.
I clutch her collar, my eyes darting everywhere, desperate for a shadow, a silhouette, anything that proves what my heart already knows. That he’s here. Watching me. Watching us.
But the trees only sway. The benches only sit empty. The sky only fades darker.
And yet…that prickling awareness doesn’t leave. It crawls over the back of my neck, down my spine, like an invisible tether pulled taut between us.
He’s here. I know it. Even if I can’t see him. Even if he won’t let me. I can feel it. Feel him.
“I miss you,” I murmur softly, barely a breath, meant for no one but him. And though nothing moves, though no shadow stepsfrom the trees, my chest fills with a painful certainty. He heard me.
Somewhere close, Isaia heard me.
I’m finally back at Molly’s ground-floor apartment, Luna on her leash and a bag of dog food in my arm. The entire way here I had that familiar prickle, that awareness I’ve convinced myself is him. What I don’t understand is why he’s not here with me, next to me, holding my hand.
Him following me, bringing Luna back, the elevator, the money—it all paints the picture of a man who still loves me. Still wants me. But why isn’t he here?
I know, even if we get back together today, our relationship is far from mended. The lies, the silence, they’re walls we’d have to break through. But we owe it to our child to at least try.
Luna whines beside me, so I unclip the leash and she darts into the apartment. I set the dog food and my tote on the counter, then pull out my phone to put it on charge. The weight of it in my palm makes me pause.
Should I?
No. No, I shouldn’t. I’ve done fine not calling. I have a job, a routine, a friend who’d go to war for me. I pay my own way, even when money shows up in my account like a bandage I didn’t ask for. Pride’s funny like that—it’s loud until you’re walking home with a leash in one hand and a heartbeat under the other.
But suddenly, today feels like a page I don’t want to lose. And if he won’t be in the moment, then I can at least put the moment in his ear. A record. A breadcrumb trail. Proof that we existed, even apart.
My fingers hover over his name until the screen dims, then I tap it awake again. If it hurts, I’ll hang up. If it hurts, I’ll survive. I’ve already survived worse.
I press call.
I’m holding my breath as the rings march on, measured and indifferent. One. Two. Three. I’m already bracing for the empty click of voicemail when it lands, and the beep opens like a small, clean door.
For a heartbeat I’m silent before finally finding my voice. “Luna found me,” I say softly. “In the park. You brought her to me, didn’t you?” I swallow. Luna bumps my knee with her nose like she’s agreeing. “She ran straight to me, Isaia. Like she knew I needed her. Like she knew I was…alone.”
A tear slips hot down my cheek as I lean back against the counter. “I know you were there. Even before I heard her bark, I felt you.” My laugh is shaky, bittersweet. “It sounds crazy, I know.”
My free hand presses to my stomach, right where the flutter lived. “I felt the baby move today. For the first time. It was small—just a little tap—but it was real, and it…” A breath, wet at the edges. “It was incredible. You should’ve been there. You should’ve felt it, too.” I glance at my palm splayed over the swell. “Your hand should be right here where mine is now.”
The tears come hot, but I keep going. “If you won’t let me see you, then I’ll tell you like this. Every little thing. Every milestone. Every moment. This baby is yours, too, and I won’t let you miss it.”
Luna huffs, impatient, and I smile through the sting in my eyes. “I miss you,” I whisper. “We miss you.”
The message ends itself, the line cutting quiet. I let the phone fall to the counter and grab a kitchen towel to blot my cheeks. It aches. It hurts. Maybe it always will.
I don’t know if he’ll get the message, or if he’ll even listen. But just talking—just imagining that he’s listening—is a thread. Thin and trembling, but strong enough to keep me tethered. To him. To us. To the part of me that still believes we’re not finished.
