Before Morning Learned How To Forget Us

The phone stopped ringing before she could decide whether to answer it. The silence afterward felt heavier than the sound had been. June remained seated on the edge of the bathtub with the towel still wrapped around her shoulders, water cooling on her skin, listening to the echo inside her chest where something irreversible had already taken place.

Her full legal name was June Alexandra Whitmore. Seeing it written on the voicemail screen made her feel as though the call had been meant for someone else. Someone who still belonged to the world where phones rang with purpose.

She did not listen to the message. She already knew what it would say. She stood and dressed slowly, each movement deliberate as if she were teaching her body how to exist again. The mirror reflected a woman who looked intact. That felt like a lie she was not yet prepared to confront.

Outside the bathroom the apartment was dim and quiet. Evening pressed against the windows with a dull violet light. The city below hummed faintly. Life continuing at a distance she could no longer reach.

She poured herself a glass of water and drank it too quickly. It tasted faintly of metal. She left the glass in the sink untouched afterward. Small abandonments had become easier.

The knock came just as she turned away.

It was soft. Not insistent. Two slow taps followed by a pause that carried recognition. Her heart reacted before her mind. Her hand tightened around the counter.

Do not open it she told herself.

The knock came again. Identical. Patient.

Her feet moved without permission. She crossed the living room. The closer she got the colder the air felt. Her breath fogged faintly when she exhaled.

When she opened the door he was standing there with the hallway light behind him, turning his outline pale. He looked exactly as he had the last morning she saw him and nothing like it at all. His hair was damp as if from rain that did not exist. His eyes held a depth that frightened her more than any wound could have.

His full legal name surfaced with cruel clarity. Samuel Edward Holloway. The name she had signed beneath consent forms. The name that had been spoken by doctors with practiced sympathy.

You cannot be here she said. Her voice sounded calm and far away.

I know he said.

She stepped back but did not invite him in. He did not cross the threshold. They stood separated by a line neither of them touched.

You died she said.

He nodded. Yes.

The word did not break her. It settled. It had already been living inside her for days.

She studied his face as if memorizing it for the first time. The scar near his eyebrow was gone. His shoulders were straighter. There was an absence to him that felt deliberate.

Why she asked.

He looked past her into the apartment. You were thinking of leaving he said.

Her breath caught. She had not said it aloud. She had barely allowed herself to imagine it. How do you know.

He smiled faintly. You always think louder when you are ready to go.

The familiarity of it stung. She opened the door wider. Come in she said.

He crossed the threshold. The temperature dropped enough for her to notice. The lamp flickered once and steadied. He stood awkwardly near the sofa as if unsure where he was allowed to exist.

You look tired he said.

She laughed once without humor. You look like a memory that refuses to fade.

That might be what I am he said quietly.

They sat opposite each other. Distance felt safer. The city lights painted his face in shifting colors. She noticed with a strange detachment that he did not blink as often as he used to.

I went to the hospital today she said. The words fell out without planning. They say the room is already reassigned.

He nodded. That sounds right.

Anger rose suddenly sharp and unexpected. That is all you have to say.

He met her gaze. What would you like me to say June.

Hearing her name like that nearly undid her. She pressed her palms together. I would like you to tell me why you left.

His jaw tightened. I did not leave.

You stopped breathing she snapped. You did not wake up.

Silence stretched. The hum of the refrigerator filled it. He looked at his hands. I was tired he said finally. Not the kind that sleep fixes.

She closed her eyes. She had known this. She had carried it like a hidden bruise. I would have stayed she said. No matter how tired.

I know he said. That is why I am here.

The nights after became something she did not name. He came after sunset. Always before dawn. He never touched anything. He never sat too close. She learned the rules through absence.

They spoke of memories carefully. As if handling glass. The road trip that ended in rain. The way he used to hum when he cooked. The arguments that never quite resolved.

One night she asked where he went when he left.

He closed his eyes. It is quiet he said. And heavy. Like being underwater without pain.

Does it hurt she asked.

Not the way living does he replied.

She felt that settle somewhere deep.

The more he came the more she noticed the changes. His voice echoed faintly. His outline blurred at the edges. Sometimes when she looked away and back again he seemed thinner. Less anchored.

You are fading she said one night when the rain battered the windows hard enough to shake them.

Yes he said.

Fear surged. Why.

Because you are learning how to be alone he said gently.

The truth struck hard. She had felt it. The mornings where she breathed without bracing. The moments where his absence felt survivable.

I do not want to forget you she said.

You will not he replied. You will remember me differently.

The final night arrived without warning. The air was unnaturally still. The city seemed paused. She woke knowing before she saw him that something was ending.

He stood by the window watching the sky lighten. Morning pressed close.

It is time she said.

He nodded. Yes.

She stood and crossed the room. She reached for him knowing it would not work. Her hands passed through his arms. Cold like deep water. She shivered.

Say my name she whispered.

June Alexandra Whitmore he said. The distance in it broke something open.

Tears fell freely now. She looked at him through them. Say it without the weight.

He shook his head. If I do I will stay.

And if you stay.

You will never leave he said. And I will forget who I was.

The choice hung between them intimate and cruel. She pressed her forehead to his chest anyway. She breathed. She let herself feel the shape of goodbye.

Go she said.

He hesitated only a moment. Then he stepped back. Light touched him and he was gone.

Morning entered the room. The city resumed its sound. She stood alone with her pulse and the echo of his name dissolving into air.

Later she would listen to the voicemail. Later she would pack boxes. Later she would step outside and feel the world claim her again.

For now she whispered Samuel Edward Holloway into the quiet and let morning learn how to forget them.