After those grueling three days, all of which I spent jumping whenever someone came into my room, hoping it was Alex only to be severely disappointed, I officially graduated to be on at-home bed rest. Technically, the hospital and doctors didn't say that I had to be bedridden, but my dad and overbearing roommate insisted.

"And I don't even want you to think about coming to work for at least the next two weeks," my dad ordered.

"Oh yeah?" I retorted. "What about you barely taking a week off after you were in the hospital?"

But my dad was in no mood for arguing. "You're not working, Ana," he said stoutly. "And that's final."

With no work, I had absolutely nothing to do but lie around the apartment and wallow. Some days I cried, some days I was too angry to cry. After three days, I finally broke down and texted Alex. And then I called. And then I called and texted again. But nothing. I hadn't really expected him to answer, but I couldn't help but feel hurt that he wouldn't even let me know that he was alright.

There was a blessing in disguise with not going to work, however. The first time Emilia dropped by since the accident, she came back to tell me that half the staff had basically bombarded her with questions.

"Everyone wants to know what happened to him," she told me once she came back armed with onion rings and French fries. "No one can really believe that he just up and left, well, up and left you."

"They can join the club," I said moodily, stabbing a French fry into a pool of ketchup. I was currently in one of my angry days.

"And, er, Connor told me something," Emilia continued.

I couldn't help but look up eagerly at her. I knew Alex and Connor talked sometimes.

"He hasn't heard from him," Emilia quickly clarified. "But I guess Connor runs along the beach sometimes, and, well, he noticed that Alex's house had a For Sale sign in front of it."

That made sense. But the news still hit me like a knife to the heart. Part of me had hoped that, even if Alex was going to sell the house, he would be back to pack up his stuff. But if it was already on the market, I had a feeling that either he got someone else to remove his things, or he just didn't care enough to get them back.

Even so, the next day I finally left the apartment (after assuring Emilia about five hundred times that yes, I would be fine) and headed over to Alex's house. Or, I guess, Alex's old house. Sure enough, Connor was right, and a red and black For Sale sign stood out in front, swaying in the wind. I swallowed hard as I stared at it.

I jumped at the sound of a door slam and eagerly looked up at the house. My heart sank as I saw a middle-aged woman come down the driveway, dressed in a pink pantsuit.

"Are you the realtor?" I called up to her.

She looked surprised to see me standing there but then nodded. "I am. Are you interested?"

I quickly shook my head. "No, no, I, uh, I just knew the person who used to live here."

The woman sighed. "He wasn't here long, was he?" she said. "I thought he would stay a while, given that he just paid for the place up front, but," she shook her head, "who knows what happened. Plans change, I guess."

Yeah, apparently, they do. "Is his stuff gone?"

The realtor eyed me, but then slowly nodded. "Yes, a moving company came and cleared out the personal belongings a few days ago."

So I was right. He didn't even come back.

In some ways, that made me feel better. If he had come back to Delphine and hadn't come to see me, I think that would have broken my heart. Or, broken it more than it already was.

"You know, there's only one way for you to find out what's going on."

Emilia and I sat together on our couch, having one of our many movie nights. In fact, in the couple weeks since I had been home, pretty much every night was movie night.

"Oh? And what's that?"

"Ask him."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, wow, how did I not think of that?" I said sarcastically. "I've tried, Emilia. He won't pick up my calls or respond to my texts."

"I never said to ask him via phone," Emilia said. "You do know where he lives, Ana."

I studied my friend carefully. She hadn't mentioned John since she told me what happened in the hospital, and I hadn't pushed. But there was a briskness about her now. She seemed to have even less patience for bullshit than I did.

"So, your suggestion is that I stalk him?"

"My suggestion is that you go demand answers from him, Ana. He left you alone in a fucking hospital after a pretty major car accident. I'm not saying he doesn't have any sort of explanation, but you deserve to hear that explanation."

In reality, I knew she was right. But what I didn't know was if I would be able to survive that encounter. A million different scenarios had run through my head as to why he left. I had had far too much time to think about them.

Some of them, I could stomach. Triggered feelings about his sister, guilt because he was driving the car, not wanting to lose someone else in his life. He was grieving before the accident happened, I can't imagine going through that helped with those feelings.

But the other scenarios made me want to throw up. He didn't want to deal with me and my anxiety over hospitals, he didn't care what happened to me, he didn't love me. If any of those were true, any hope I had of us working something out would be squashed in a Star Wars-esque trash compactor.

Later that night, I sat in bed, staring at my phone and Alex's contact on the screen. My thumb hovered over the number. Squeezing my eyes closed, I forced myself to press it.

I help the phone to my ear, barely breathing, praying to whoever or whatever might be listening that he would pick up. Instead, I heard three, different toned beeps.

"We're sorry, the number you are trying to reach is unavailable."

I jerked the phone away from my ear and gaped at the screen. He had changed his number. He hadn't even had the decency to say anything to me since the accident, and he changed his fucking number.

I almost launched myself out of bed and grabbed a small overnight bag. Fuck that. Emilia was right. I was going to get answers.