Elise hadn’t sat there in 730 days. Not a call. Not a message. Not even a birthday text.

Just… absence. Thick and loud.

I took a breath that scraped its way up from my gut and settled like a stone in my chest.

Then I reached for my phone. Her contact still read My Girl. I never changed it.

I tapped “call.”

The ring echoed in my ear like footsteps in an empty hallway. Then it stopped. Call dropped.

“She’s still not ready,” I murmured to no one in particular.

Miles walked over and wrapped me in his arms. I broke.

The tears came hard—fast and hot—like they’d been waiting behind my eyes all day. I blew out the candles, and with that soft breath, I made one wish.

Just to hold her. Once.