Please don’t leave me. I need you to come back to me. I am so sorry. I need you to come back.
My hands shook as I hit send. As they had been shaking for the past two weeks. I had sent similar messages over and over. Hoping for a response. I wouldn’t receive one. He was in a hospital bed because of me. That’s why they wouldn’t let me visit.
An hour passed. No response.
Rubbing my face with a hand, I unlocked my phone. Opened up the messages.
Please come back to me. You have no idea how sorry I am. Please don’t leave me.
I love you more than you know.
I buried my phone in my pillow. Hugged myself as tears fell. I didn’t think I still had the capacity to continue crying.
My phone chirped, nearly sending me off the bed. Kept chirping. A call? My heart raced as I slid over the accept icon. “Hello?”
“Look,” it was his sister’s voice, “the only reason I’m calling you is because he’s dead.”
Everything inside me screeched to a halt. The phone slipping from my fingers.
Her choked voice lined with hatred. “Yes. He’s dead. We will be having services, but you’re not invited. If you show up, we will call the police. This is your fault. You need to know it.”
“I love him more than any–” The call ended. I stared at my phone, jaw hanging open. What? Why? How…? In a blind rage, I rose and hurled my phone across the room.
Three days passed.
I stared at the cracked screen of my phone. Opened up the messages.
I refuse to believe you’re dead. Please come back to me. They wouldn’t let me visit. It’s my fault. I love you. I’m sorry. Please come home.
A red message appeared: This number is no longer in service. Message will not be sent. If you believe this to be an error, please call our support line.
Sinking to the floor, I sobbed into my phone. “No!” The device fell from my grasp. I held my chest. Barely able to breathe. “Please don’t leave me! Please….”