Instead of lying there in my growing anxiety, I slip out from the covers, still wanting to prove my suspicions wrong. I grab my robe and punch my arms through as I swing my door open only to find the bathroom unoccupied.

Glancing left, I find Amanda’s door closed as usual, so I walk down the short hall. My hands begin to shake as I have the view of the entire apartment in my grasp.

And there’s no Harbor.

He left . . .

After what we did, what I was willing to give him, he still left me like I didn’t matter at all.

A deep hole I thought was long buried is exposed like it didn’t take me years to come to terms with someone abandoning me. Tears fill my eyes as my heart is squeezed a lot like I remember having the good memories ripped away from me back when I was little.

“Harbor?” I call for him like an idiot. He’s not here. I can see that with my own eyes. I feel weak and not the good kind like Harbor usually makes my knees. I grip the kitchen counter to support me, unsure why I’m feeling so off and more than only disappointed.

We’d agreed to date, to be exclusive, to use the cheesy terms of girlfriend and boyfriend, so why would he leave me without so much as a note?

I return to my room and grab my phone. No texts or missed calls. Tossing my robe off, I drape it on the bottom of the bed and climb back under the covers. It’s not even nine o’clock, which makes me wonder what time he left.

Sleep would be awesome, but I’m left lying here alone when I thought I’d be waking up with him. Such a disappointment.

The door creaks open. I roll away from it. “I’m sleeping, Amanda.”

“That’s too bad.” His voice is deep, the dulcet tones drawing me to sit up and turn back.

“Harbor?”

Carrying a tray with coffee and a bag on top, he shuts the door behind him. “Did you miss me?” That smile would usually work wonders on me, but the joy in seeing him still competes with the fact I thought he had abandoned me.

“I thought you left.”

“I did.” He sets the tray down on the dresser and pulls a cup from it. “I got us coffee from the shop downtown.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

He sits next to me, sets the bag down on the comforter, and hands me the cup. “What did you mean?” But the answer seems to come to him before I can reply. “You thought I left you, like not going for coffee but went home?”

“I—”

“You thought I’d do that to you even after last night?” He stands, the bag forgotten. Running his hand through his hair, he turns away from me.

I felt sick before, but now it’s worse, my guts twisting in knots. I get to my knees and touch his back. “Harbor, I don’t know what to say. I thought you had left.”