The Call I Never Made

The Caribbean sun beat down on Richard's neck as he sat on the beach, his feet buried in cool sand. Six months after Sarah left, and he'd finally taken the vacation they'd planned together. Alone.

The resort was paradise—crystal **water** lapping at white sand, staff bringing drinks with little umbrellas—but Richard felt hollow. He extended his **palm**, examining the lines etched there, wondering if fortune tellers were right about life paths being written in skin. His life path had certainly taken an unexpected turn.

His **iPhone** lay face-down on the small table beside his chair. A constant temptation. She'd changed her number, but he still had her sister's contact. One call could change everything. Or nothing.

"Mind if I join you? The other chairs are taken."

Richard looked up. A woman in her forties, confident smile, eyes that had seen things. "Please."

"Elena," she said, settling into the lounge chair. "You look like a man waiting for something that's not going to happen."

Richard laughed bitterly. "That obvious?"

"I'm a therapist," she said. "Retired. But old habits die hard. You keep checking that phone like it holds the answer to a question you're afraid to ask."

Richard picked up his iPhone, thumb hovering over Sarah's sister's name in his contacts. The water lapped at the shore, rhythmic and indifferent. He closed his eyes.

"She moved on," Elena said gently. "So can you. Or you can stay here, in this place between what was and what could be. But the waiting? That's just purgatory with a better view."

Richard looked at the endless water stretching to the horizon. His palm tingled where he'd gripped the phone. He deleted the contact without opening it.

"You're right," he said, setting the phone down. "I need to make my own calls now."

Elena smiled, raised her drink in a toast. "To new beginnings."

Richard returned the smile. The sun felt warmer now, the water more inviting, for the first time in months, he was exactly where he was supposed to be.