The smartphone lay face-up on the bedside table, its screen black in slumber. Beyond the window, a bluish dawn started to seep into the room, carrying the hush of a world not quite awake yet. The nightlight threw a faint orange glow across the metal edges of the device.

It hadn’t rung all night.

Marcie had set it there deliberately, silenced, its screen dark. No alerts. No vibrations. No excuses to break the stillness. She told herself she was done waiting for messages that never came, for apologies she no longer believed in. But as the hours stretched thin, her eyes kept sliding toward it.

Outside, the world breathed frost onto the glass. Inside, the air smelled faintly of old furniture polish. She reached out once, but then quickly drew her hand back. Some decisions, she knew, could only be made in the space between impulse and restraint.

When the first sunlight spilled across the table, it caught on the phone’s edge, turning its outline into a blade of gold light. Marcie closed her eyes, trying to delay the inevitable reality. By the time she opened them again, she had already decided she wouldn’t look to see if he had called. Or texted.

Not yet, anyway.

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Written for Mike Jackson’s Only Murders In My Mind Weekly Writing Prompt. Photo credit: no attribution.