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The first thing I do when I wake up the next morning is reach for my phone.

I don’t even open my eyes first.

My hand slides across the nightstand, finds the charger cable, follows it to my phone, and pulls it toward me.

Nothing.

I blink at the screen.

7:14.

Weather.

Two promotional emails.

A text from Nadia asking how I’m feeling today.

Nothing from Wyatt.

Of course he didn’t text.

I broke up with him.

I decide to get started with my day. No use moping about.

But by eight o’clock, I’ve checked my phone six times.

By eight fifteen, I’ve opened our conversation twice without typing anything.

At eight twenty-three, I type:

Are you okay?

But I don’t send it. What right do I have to ask?

I told him this was over.

I told him what we had didn’t mean as much to me as it did to him.

I practically thanked him for providing a beginner’s course in relationships and sent him on his way.

My stomach turns.

I force myself into the shower.

I make coffee.

I answer emails.

I try to work.

At eleven, I realize I’ve been staring at the same paragraph for nine minutes.

My phone sits beside my laptop.

Silent.

For once, Wyatt is doing exactly what I asked him to do.