Ethan
"Noah," I say, my voice shaking, the phone gripped so tight my knuckles ache. "Answer me. Are you breaking up with me?"
The silence stretches so long I think the call might've dropped, and when he finally speaks, his voice sounds wrecked, torn between conviction and something that sounds a lot like grief already settling in.
"I think I have to," he says. "I can't keep doing this, Ethan. The distance, the shrinking calls, the constant fear that you're building a whole life over there that eventually won't have room for me in it. It's eating me alive."
"That's not what's happening. I told you, camp's just been intense. I'm working on it."
"I know you are. I believe you're trying." His voice cracks slightly. "But trying isn't the same as it actually working, and I don't think I can
