were curled up to my chest as I laid under the pillow fort on our bed. Roman
had called multiple times: seven to be exact with a batch of ten text messages
I was terrified of answering. That was two weeks ago.
“Babe, are you okay?”
“You haven’t called me all week.”
“Sweet heart, please call. You’re
still, eyes puffy and red as I heard Roman’s footsteps echo throughout the
house once the front door shut. I could hear the anger and fear in his
movements, as his bags dropped to the ground and his shoes were thrown off.
hell? You can’t call, you can’t text? Did I do something?”