But I loved him. Fifteen years I'd loved him.
I lay down on the bed, exhausted.
As the memories came, thin and slow, I realized that in seven years behind bars, not a single person had visited me besides my mother.
Mason never came. Not once.
Over those seven years, Mason's career had only climbed higher. He had a lover now, and he'd gotten everything he ever wanted. He was a rich man, just as he'd planned.
To Mason, I was probably nothing more than a stain on his otherwise spotless life.
A stain he could never wash out.
Melody. Melody...
I kept my eyes shut, but the name from that caller ID kept floating through my mind.
I still remembered the early days of Mason's business. He was always gone before dawn and back long after dark.
Flirtatious texts on his phone, lipstick smudges on his white dress shirts. None of it was new.
Back then, I'd throw fits. I'd interrogate him, again and again.
Mason would just frown, his face full of impatience.
Looking back, it was laughable. The whole relationship had only ever been one-sided.
I drifted into a fitful sleep.
In the dream, a single warm-yellow candle flickered in a dim room, its flame guttering and swaying.