Anna's POV:

I reach for him before I'm fully awake.

Cold sheet. No warmth, no indent—he's been gone long enough that even the ghost of him has left. I sit up. The room holds his absence the way a room does when someone has been careful about leaving, when they've taken their noise with them and left only the shape of their choices behind.

On the nightstand: a folded square of paper.

I unfold it. Four words, his handwriting, ...