I turn off all the lights and walk to the bedroom, slipping between the stark white covers and sinking into the bed. I open my pictures on my phone and go through them one by one. Most of them are of Beau and me that I never noticed before. He was always beside me at every single gathering. His hands resting on my shoulders or my arms or around my waist. I never noticed it before, or I never wanted to see it.

I fall asleep to his smile, and when I feel little kisses on my neck, I open my eyes, expecting him to be there, but he’s not. I’m alone in the bed without him, and when I turn over, my heart hurts. My body hurts, my muscles scream, and my eyes leak with tears as I feel this overwhelming sense of loneliness.

Even when I was pregnant and alone with no idea of what was going to happen, I never had this feeling. I never had it because I knew that Beau would be there, that he would always be there for me. I slip out of bed and grab my robe, heading to the beach when my coffee is ready.

I watch the sunrise and send him a text.

Me: Hope you have a great day. Missing you.

I stay out here, and when my phone rings at almost eleven, I hope it’s him. I want to reach out and tell him to come get me. I want to tell him that this is stupid, this whole thing is silly, and that I belong with him in my hometown. I look and see it’s Kallie.

“Hey,” I answer after the second ring.

“Hi,” she says, and she sounds out of breath. “I don’t want to disturb you for too long, but I just wanted to make sure that Ethan could stay out this weekend. He got invited to a birthday party on Friday, and then my father wants to take him fishing over the weekend.”

“Um, yeah,” I say, blinking. I never thought I would be able to share my son. I never thought I would be okay with a woman loving my son just as much as I do, but at the end of the day, my son is surrounded by so much love, and there is nothing wrong with that. “That sounds like fun.”

“How are you doing? Are you enjoying the alone time?” she asks. A tear falls and then another one, and suddenly, I’m sobbing. “Savannah, are you okay?”

“Not really,” I tell her. “I … just miss my family.”

“It’s not easy,” she says. She should know; she walked away from her family eight years ago because of me.