It’s been three days since I was at Eileen’s house, and I’m only partially hung up on it all. And by partially, I mean I still can’t go twenty minutes without the urge to text her creeping into my mind.

After the call I rejected, I only received one text message from her. One I’m continuing to stare at instead of focusing on the flood of work emails I’ve been pushing off:

‘Sorry about the way things went down last night. Lot of stuff to process for ...