Day five at Leah's apartment, and I was going quietly insane.
"You're doing it again," Leah said from the kitchen, not even looking up from her coffee.
"Doing what?"
"Staring at your phone like you can will it to ring." She leaned against the doorframe, smirking. "Just call him already."
"I can't." I set the phone down with more force than necessary. "I asked for space. I told him I needed time to think."
"And? Have you thought?"
I had. That was the problem. Five days of thinking, and all I'd concluded was that I missed him desperately. That my "freedom" felt like being untethered rather than liberated. That every small thing—coffee, morning light, the sound of rain—reminded me of him.
"It's only been five days," I said weakly.
"Honey, you've been miserable for four and a half of them." Leah sat beside me, her expression softening. "Look, I don't know all the details about your werewolf drama—"
"Leah!"
