Dylan stood in the center of the living room for a long minute. He ran his hands through his hair, breathing heavily.
He looked at the kitchen island. The breakfast he had made was picked over and cold. His phone, which he had finally turned back on in the car, sat in his pocket.
He hadn't gone to the store. He had spent the last two hours sitting in his car three blocks away, staring at the steering wheel and trying to process if he was ever going to be enough for Anastasia.
He finally moved. He walked up the stairs, his footsteps heavy. When he reached the bedroom, the door was cracked open. He pushed it slowly and saw Anastasia sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at her phone.
"She's gone," Dylan said quietly, leaning against the doorframe.
Anastasia didn't look up at first.
"You didn't go to the store, Dylan. You don't have any bags. You didn't even have a reason to leave."
Dylan walked into the room and sat on the space beside her.
