As Erin walked back home, the world felt a little less scary with each step. A little more real. Like she was starting to connect again.

The apartment was still quiet. Same as yesterday. Just a little less suffocating.

She wasn't okay. But she wasn't unraveling either.

Maybe it was the quiet moment in Central Park. Or maybe it was just… exhaustion. Whatever it was, she let it in.

Her eyes flicked to her phone. Still nothing.

A sigh slipped out—resigned, but not panicked.

She checked the time. 3:47 p.m..

She crossed to the kitchen and opened the fridge, not because she was hungry, but because she didn't know what else to do. She grabbed an apple. Took one bite. Put it down.

Then she started pacing.

Overthinking.

The guilt crept in.

A feeling that she should have been at work.

She thought about the night before when Cass convinced her to call in sick. It made sense. Of course. She needed it. She hadn't slept at all.

But now… it felt like weakness.

Her chest tightened.

She could count on one hand how many times she'd called in sick during the last 5 years. Sure, there was that "burnout" stretch. And a couple of work related injuries. But other than that? No way. She would need to be really sick to stay home.

I should have gone in. I would have survived. At least the day would have moved faster. At least I'd be doing something useful. They count on me. I'm not the kind of person who flakes.

She paced the living room once.

Then twice.

And what will they think? That I'm unreliable now? That they can't trust me?

She stopped at the window, staring blankly outside.

The sun had started to warm her cheeks, and without meaning to, her mind drifted to the when they watched the sunset together. That quiet moment. That warmth. Jay.

No. Not gonna start again. Damn. I really should be at work.

She knew going in with no sleep would have been reckless. She knew the team would survive one day without her.

But the feeling wouldn't go away. That pull. That guilt. That need to be where she was supposed to be.

She grabbed her phone. Hovered over the screen—ready to call. To check in.

To see if they needed her.

She didn't know why, but something in her chest tightened. Like she was missing something.

Still, she stopped herself.

One day, Erin. Just one fucking day. They can survive without me. I can survive without work.

She set the phone down again.

But God—staying home like this?

Boring as hell.

She glanced down at herself in the mirror. Jay's old shirt still clung to her body, soft and worn. The sigh made her pause for a second.

She peeled it off quickly and tossed it onto the bed. Reached for a sweater instead. Something soft. Neutral. Hers.

Then she went to the bathroom and fixed her hair. Not because she wanted to look presentable. She just needed to do something.

Anything.

Time crawled.

She checked the clock again.

Still not even 5 p.m..

Still no message.

I should have gone to work.

She made tea. This time, she drank it.

She wandered the apartment. Picked up a book. Put it down. Scrolled on her phone. Set it aside. Opened her laptop. Closed it again. Turned on the tv. Surfed the channels. Nothing to watch.

It was past 9 p.m. when she heard the knock on the door. She was relieved to see Cass.

Finally—something to do.

Cass had told her she'd stop by after finishing her shift with her other patients, but it was already so late Erin figured she might have forgotten.

Seeing her at the door brought a quiet sense of relief.

Cass's presence always brought comfort—even when Erin wasn't sure how she felt about whatever conversation was coming.

"Hi, Cass! How are you? Just coming from work?"

"Yea… I'm fine. Tired. Had to deal with a tough patient."

"Harder than me?" Erin laughed.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe it."

Cass smiled as she stepped inside, her eyes soft but already studying Erin carefully. "How was your day? Feeling any better?"

Erin shrugged.

"Yeah… I guess. Trying not to think too much…"

Cass gave her a look.

"I'd rather have you talk about your feelings than bury them again. You know that doesn't work, Erin."

She stepped further inside, gently guiding Erin toward the couch.

"Remember when you first came to see me?" Cass asked.

Erin raised an eyebrow. She didn't really want to go back there.

"How could I forget?"

"You told me a lot. What happened that day… what led up to it… the year before… Chicago… Hank. Grief. Feeling like you had nowhere left to go."

Cass paused, watching her carefully.

"You scratched the surface on all of it—but somehow you managed to leave out one very tiny, totally insignificant detail. Remember?"

Erin laughed softly. "I was trying not to think about him."

"Yeah. That worked out great, huh?"

Erin pouted. "Shut up."

Cass smirked.

"It took three months, Erin. Three whole months before you even let slip something about 'your partner.' And the second you did?"

She tilted her head. "I saw it—the flicker in your eyes."

Then she leaned in, her voice quieter.

"And when I asked his name? You panicked like I was asking for your ATM pin."

Erin looked down quietly. She knew exactly where Cass was going.

"And even then, it took weeks for you to admit what he really meant to you," Cass continued. "I had to piece it all together backwards—from scraps. You didn't want to talk about him because you thought if you didn't say it out loud, maybe it would just… disappear."

"I just… didn't want to go there," Erin said, defensive—but she knew Cass was right.

"I know," Cass said softly. "But bottling it didn't protect you, Erin. It made you a ticking time bomb. And yesterday—"

She paused, voice quieter.

"Yesterday really threw me."

Erin finally looked up. "What do you mean?"

Cass didn't hesitate.

"The second he left, you shut down. Just—gone. Survival mode. Like we hadn't spent a whole year pulling you out of that place."

"I didn't mean to… it just—"

"Happened. I know."

Cass didn't sound angry. Just frustrated.

"But Erin… you didn't even talk at first. And that scared the hell out of me. Because you used to live in that silence."

She paused, studying her carefully.

"And when you finally did start talking? You weren't making any sense. You know that, right?"

"I know… sorry," Erin murmured. "It was just… so much. We shared so much in so little time."

"I know it was overwhelming."

Erin nodded slowly, swallowing hard.

"I felt like I was drowning again."

Cass didn't flinch.

"He came back, cracked open five years of scar tissue, kissed you… and left again."

She paused just long enough to let the words sink in.

"I get why you're wrecked, Erin. I do. But if you're going to rebuild, you've got to stop making room for everyone's pain but your own."

That hit like a punch.

Erin opened her mouth to argue.

But nothing came out.

"You keep talking about his sadness. His regrets. His reasons."

Cass tilted her head slightly, voice steady.

"But now that you've slept on it—even just a little—tell me how you're really feeling."

Erin hesitated.

"I don't know… a little better, I guess."

Cass watched her for a long second—then finally nodded.

"You do look a little better than yesterday… but you're not just pretending to get me off my back, right?"

"I'm trying. I really am." Erin pouted.

Cass leaned back slightly, still studying her.

"How did you spend the day? What did you do?"

Erin shrugged.

"I paced around… I even thought about going to work."

Cass raised a brow, already shaking her head.

"Hide in work again. Just awesome."

"At least it's a distraction, Cass," she answered defensively. "I went to Central Park after you left…"

Cass smiled surprised, tilting her head. "Oh! That's great, Erin. That's exactly the kind of thing you need to—"

Erin cut in, quieter now.

"To talk to Nadia."

Cass paused.

Her voice gentled.

"Oh…"

She let the silence stretch for a moment, then added softly,

"You don't have to go there to talk to her, you know? But I'm glad to know you didn't spend all day buried here."

Erin nodded, her eyes distant.

"I know. But I needed to. I had to drag myself out, basically… but once I was there… I felt peace. Like she was really listening."

She paused.

"Maybe she was, honey."

"I wish you could have met her."

Cass smiled gently.

"I'm sure she'd be proud of you—trying to move forward."

Her tone shifted, a little more serious now.

"Are you feeling up to work tomorrow?"

"Yes… yes…" Erin replied quickly. "I can't miss more work."

Cass raised an eyebrow, a knowing look in her eyes.

"That wasn't the question," she said lightly but still a little concerned.

Erin smiled softly. She nodded with a quiet determination.

"Yes," she said again, more certain this time. "I'm feeling better now… I still miss him like hell, but I'm much better than yesterday."

"Okay…" Dr. Cass gave her a small smile of approval. "So eat something. Try to rest. I'll check in again tomorrow."

"I will," Erin promised, her voice soft but steady. "Thanks… for everything. Really."

Cass smiled warmly, her eyes full of understanding.

"You're welcome, honey. Goodnight."

Erin locked the door behind her and leaned against it for a second, the quiet pressing in again.

Sleeping didn't come easy.

Not just because the meds had knocked her out almost until noon, but because she couldn't stop thinking about him.

She tossed and turned for hours before she finally drifted off—thankfully, without her usual nightmares.

She woke before her alarm.

Still no message.

She moved on autopilot.

Outfit sharp. Hair flawless. Makeup done.

But everywhere she looked in the apartment—

He was still there.

She opened the fridge to grab some yogurt. It was all the way in the back.

Her fingers brushed against the whipped cream can.

She sighed.

Damn it.

She shut the door and rushed out.

Willing herself to stop thinking.

Some neutral ground. Somewhere he wouldn't be in every corner she looked.

But she still saw him—

Reflected in the elevator doors.

In the cab, she still felt the weight of his body beside her.

Still felt his hand brush hers.

Once I'm at work it will stop! It has to.

She arrived at work early, holding her coffee tightly in one hand as if it were a shield against the wave of anxiety that threatened to overwhelm her.

The office felt the same. The exact same since she left Friday. It had only been a weekend and the Monday she called in sick.

The realization struck her.

Only 3 days?

She looked at her watch. 8:23.

3 days, 15 hours and whatever minutes to be exact.

It didn't feel right. She shook her head.

It felt like a lifetime.

A lifetime since she left this same office to go home to another boring and lonely weekend. Except, it was nothing like that.

Erin moved through the space with practiced ease, her posture straight, her expression unreadable. Business as usual.

"Hey, good morning, Erin. How are you?" Liz, the front desk secretary, greeted her warmly.

"Morning, good, thanks. You?" Erin replied, forcing a small smile.

"I'm good. Thanks."

Just the usual greetings. Nothing different.

If anyone had questions about her absence, they kept them to themselves. Good. She didn't give them a reason to ask. She kept her head down, walked with purpose, like she always did.

Her fingers curled into fists as she headed to her desk.

Like she was fine.

But inside?

Her thoughts were loud.

Too loud.

Is anyone watching me?

Judging me for missing work?

Did Jay make it to Bolivia?

Did OA wrap up the case we were working on friday?

Where the hell is OA anyway?

Did Jay get my message?

Did I forget to file that report before I left Friday?

Did Jay try to get in touch?

What time is my meeting with Isobel again?

Is he even thinking about me?

I have to check that missing persons file—damn it where is that report?

What if he—no, stop!

For God's sake! Stop thinking about him.

Stay focused!

She forced her breath to stay even. Her shoulders to stay squared.

She was fine. She was working. She was in control.

Yeah, right!

Placing her coffee down, she reached out to turn on her computer,

Then—her eyes landed on a post-it note under the monitor.

Its neon yellow stood out against the white desk, but it was facing down, as if it had fallen from her monitor.

She frowned, reaching for it. Just one word—with a bunch of question marks—neatly written.

Sergeant ?????

She held the note in her hand, tilting her head as if trying to decipher a secret code. "Sergeant?" she murmured to herself, her stomach twisting slightly with unease.

What the hell does that mean?

What is it with all these question marks?

She frowned. The word felt random—disconnected. Had someone left it by mistake? But then… the question marks. A lot of them. Almost like whoever wrote it was confused. Or… trying to tell her something.

Hank?

Why would he call the office? It didn't make sense. But what other Sergeant did she know? Well, quite a few, but who would call her?

She looked around. OA hasn't arrived yet. Room was still pretty quiet.

Tucking the note into her pocket, she made her way back to the front desk.

"Hey, Liz," she said, keeping her voice casual. "Did you leave this note on my desk?"

The secretary looked up from her monitor, brow furrowed. "No, but—oh, yeah, some guy called looking for you yesterday."

"Who?", she asked quickly.

Erin's heart stuttered.

Liz shook her head. "Connection was terrible. I could barely hear him. Thought he said 'Sergeant Hollister or something, but I'm not sure."

"Hollister?" Erin repeated, confusion deepening as her heart started to race.

"I'm not sure," Liz said, frowning slightly. "I told him you were out sick, but the number was from a foreign country."

Erin's breath hitched, her pulse quickening. "Foreign country? What country?"

Liz shrugged. "I don't know… somewhere in South America, I think."

"Oh my God," Erin whispered, the pieces suddenly clicking into place. Her hand flew to her chest as realization dawned. "Sergeant Halstead? Jason Halstead?"

Jay.

Her Jay.

Her Detective Halstead.

Except—he wasn't a detective anymore. He was Sergeant Halstead. Army. Bolivia.

And… He wasn't hers anymore.

Her throat tightened.

"Yes, I guess that could be it… sorry it was really bad," Liz replied, a little amused by Erin's sudden excitement. "Do you know him?"

"YES!" Erin exclaimed, her voice trembling with urgency. "When did he call?"

"End of the day yesterday. Around 4 maybe."

Of fuck! I knew it! I should've been at work! She thought, running her hand through her hair, visibly frustrated.

"Did you get his number?"

Liz's eyes widened at Erin's reaction. "No, but I can check the call log…"

"Please! I really need to call him back!" Erin's fingers tightened around the edge of the desk, her voice pleading.

Liz typed quickly, pulling up the call log. "Here it is," she said, scribbling it onto a sticky note and handing it to Erin. "Country code 591?"

Erin stared at the numbers, her fingers gripping the paper.

Her mind raced.

"591…" Erin murmured, her heart hammering. "That must be Bolivia. It's got to be him."

Liz hesitated. "You're sure it's not a scam?"

"No..," Erin said firmly, shaking her head as her grip tightened on the piece of paper. "Not a scam. It's… someone I've been trying to reach out to for a long time." She glanced up at Liz with a small, grateful smile. "Thank you."

Long time? Uh-huh! Not even two full days. Two days of losing her mind… an eternity… But still… just two days…

Erin clutched the small piece of paper as if it were her last tether to sanity, her hands trembling slightly. Her heart was pounding, her thoughts spinning. She needed to call him—right now.

She turned and walked toward an empty conference room, shutting the door behind her.

Taking a deep breath, she typed the number on her cellphone, her fingers shaking so much she clicked on the wrong buttons and had to start over. She gripped her phone tightly, holding her breath as the line connected.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

A woman answered.

"Good morning. How may I help you?"

Erin's throat went dry for a moment. She swallowed hard, forcing her voice to sound steady.

"Uh—hi. I'm looking for Sergeant Halstead."

The woman paused.

"Who's calling?"

Erin hesitated. She didn't know who this woman was, but she suddenly felt desperate—like if she gave the wrong answer, the call would end, and she'd lose her only chance to reach him.

So before she could stop herself—

"His wife."

The lie slipped out. A reflex. Immediate regret crashed over her.

Shit.

The woman on the other end made a small sound—surprise? Sympathy? Erin had no idea.

"Err… I'm sorry to bother... but I really need to get a hold of him. It's urgent… Please?"

The woman hesitated for a beat.

"Hold on, ma'am. I'll see if I can get him."

Oh God! What did I just do? What if he thinks—

(cut off by the hold music)*

Too cheerful—too loud—too out of place. She winced, pulling the phone away from her ear slightly.

The woman entered the briefing room, excusing herself.

"Sergeant Halstead?"

Jay barely looked up from the table where he was going over intel, his focus elsewhere.

"Yes?"

"Your wife is on the phone looking for you."

His stomach dropped.

Wait. What?

His pulse stuttered. His grip on the pen tightened.

For a split second—just a split second—his brain tricked him. It's Erin's face that comes to his mind.

It couldn't be. It couldn't.

Reality crashed in.

Of course it was Hailey.

He exhaled sharply, shifting in his chair. Right, Hailey.

"Are you sure?" he asked, a slight frown forming. His voice was even, but something inside him wasn't.

"Yes."

Shit. He hadn't returned her calls.

Guilt prickled at the back of his mind. But also—irritation. Because why now?

"Can you tell her I will call her back later?" he said, already reaching for the papers in front of him.

The woman hesitated. "She says it's urgent."

Jay's jaw flexed. Urgent?

A sinking feeling settled in his chest.

He nodded, already standing. "Oh, okay. Thanks."

The woman gestured toward the office. "You can answer it in my office."

Jay nodded absently, already moving.

What the actual fuck? What now?

Had something happened?

It must be something serious for Hailey to track me down like this.

As he walked toward the small office, his mind was spinning.

But—not about Hailey.

Erin.

It had been two days. He still hadn't heard from her.

He had spent the entire flight to Bolivia thinking only of her. Not Hailey. Not his mission.

His stomach clenched. Had she read the email? Was she okay?

Fuck. Please, be okay, Erin.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

It wasn't until he reached for the office door that he realized—

Not once.

Not once since stepping foot in Bolivia had he thought about Hailey.

Not once.

Not after her last call. The one he hadn't returned. The one she had made while he was cheating on her.

No—not just cheating.

Desperately kissing Erin.

His stomach twisted violently.

I am such an actual fucking asshole.

For two days, all he had done was worry about Erin. Wonder if she was okay. If he had broken her again.

And now?

Now, Hailey had tracked him down. Probably because something was actually wrong. And he hadn't even considered that possibility.

God.

What the hell! What kind of man does that?

He ran a hand down his face, inhaled deeply.

Focus.

Hailey wouldn't call like this unless she had to.

What if something happened to her?

How the hell did she even get this number?

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to clear his head as he grabbed the phone.

He took a deep breath. Hesitating. Dreading whatever she was about to say.

Erin leaned back in her chair, clutching the phone tightly. Gripping the hem of her blazer with the other hand. Her leg bounced nervously under the desk as minutes ticked by.

Geez! I shouldn't have said I was his wife! How stupid!

What if they tell him his wife had called?

What if he thinks it is Hailey?

Of course he will think it is Hailey! She is his wife, dumbass!

She clenched her jaw.

Fucking awful music. Who the hell picks these?

What if he gets upset?

What if they say he will call back?

How could I possibly explain that he doesn't have my number?

Crap.

What if—

The music stops.

Silence.

"Hails?"

It hits like a slap.