George
I stare at the phone as it rings, the knot in my stomach intensifying with each passing second. One ring, then two, then three. I already know how this ends, but I wait anyway. Maybe she'll pick up this time. Maybe she's waiting to hear from me, just as much as I want to hear from her. But no, the call slips to voicemail again.
"Hey, it's Ella. I can't take your call right now, but leave a message and I'll get back to you."
I sigh heavily, dropping the phone onto the couch beside me. I've heard that message more times than I care to admit. There was a time when we spoke every day, every night—our conversations were effortless, natural. That's not how things are anymore. I could blame it on Jessica's arrest, on everything falling apart when she got taken in, but deep down, I know it's not just that.