The Edge of Ending 4/8

The calls became their lifeline. No matter how long Lia’s day had been or how heavy her thoughts, when Adam’s name lit up her phone, she answered. At first, their conversations carried the same lightness they had always shared, quick wit, soft laughs, and the occasional teasing remark. But over time, something shifted. Adam began to speak more slowly, his words carefully chosen, his silences heavier. Lia found herself leaning into those silences, feeling as though they were saying something neither of them dared to voice.

One evening, the rain tapped against the windows like a thousand tiny drums again, a soothing yet relentless rhythm that mirrored the quiet ache in her chest. Lia sat curled on the couch, the warm glow of the lamp beside her casting soft shadows on the walls. Her partner was upstairs, his footsteps muffled as he moved about, preparing for bed. Lia’s phone vibrated in her hand, Adam’s name glowing on the screen.

She answered on the second ring.

“Hey,” she said softly, tucking her legs beneath her.

“Hey,” Adam replied. His voice was quiet, subdued.

The silence between them stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Lia stared out at the rain-soaked street, her reflection faint in the window.

“Do you ever feel like you’re fading?” Adam asked suddenly, his voice breaking through the quiet.

Her stomach tightened. “Fading?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Like you’re here, but not really. Like you’re pretending to be fine, and no one notices.”

She leaned back against the couch, her chest tightening. “Yeah,” she admitted. “I do.”

“It’s like I’m treading water,” Adam continued, his voice cracking slightly. “Trying to keep afloat, and no one even notices.” It was the second time he mentioned these heavy thoughts and Lia felt the urgency in them, the trust too.

Lia closed her eyes, pressing the phone closer to her ear. “You don’t have to pretend with me,” she whispered. “I see you, Adam.”

“You don’t know how much that means to me,” he said finally, his voice raw. He had said this before too, but that night it felt different. Even more genuine than the first time he had said it.

Lia’s throat tightened. She felt the weight of his words pressing into her, a fragile trust she was terrified of breaking. She wanted to tell him she understood, that his words meant just as much to her. But all she could manage was, “I’m glad I can help.”

Adam shared more and more pieces of himself, small, carefully measured confessions that felt like glimpses into a world he rarely let anyone see.

“There’s this park I go to sometimes,” he said. She let him speak, listening, not daring to reveal that he had spoken about that park before. “It’s quiet, tucked away, with these massive oak trees that make you feel like you’re in a different world. I sit on a bench and just… exist for a while. It’s the only place I don’t feel like I have to be anyone.” The way he talked about the park was almost identical as the first time he mentioned it. Lia understood the importance of this little sanctuary.

Lia closed her eyes, picturing him there.

“You know, when I am there, I don’t have to think. About nothing,” he said softly. “And everything.”

Her chest ached at his words, she understood him too well. She couldn’t say it out loud, not with her partner upstairs and Adam in her ear.

Lia began to feel the weight of what they were becoming. Adam’s vulnerability was a fragile thing, something she held with both hands, afraid that letting go would shatter it. But the more he leaned on her, the more she felt herself buckling under the weight.

One night, as Adam spoke about the loneliness he couldn’t seem to shake, Lia stared at the screen of her phone and felt a quiet panic settle over her. The thought clawed at her, sharp and unrelenting: she had become his anchor, the person he turned to when the world felt too heavy. But who was holding her together? When had this happened? After all, they had met through innocent banter in work emails, and now everything they shared was loaded with heavy emotions.

The question lingered, unspoken, even as she smiled into the phone, her voice steady. Lia told herself she could handle it, that she was strong enough to carry them both. But deep down, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep pretending. Everything that used to be easy had shifted. Lia longed for simpler times again. But she couldn’t imagine being without Adam anymore either. The duality of her feelings wasn’t lost on her and she smiled sadly.