A woman was sitting in my bathrobe, in my bedroom, and on my bed. Her face was cut off, but the setting was unmistakably MY HOUSE. And the caption made me numb:
“Can’t wait until you’re back in my arms.”
My hands started shaking uncontrollably.
This had to be a wrong number and some terrible mistake. But that robe belonged to me, and I knew every thread of that fabric. That bedspread was the one I had picked out myself, and the lamp was the one Daniel always left crooked.
“This isn’t real,” I whispered to the empty room.
But my heart knew better.
I stared at my phone for what felt like hours, my mind racing through possibilities. Then something reckless and desperate took over, and I decided to test my worst fears. I typed back, pretending to be Daniel:
“Send me more, baby.
You know how I love it when you call me ‘that’ name.”
