A cough interrupted him. Not one cough. Several. He moved the phone away, and for a moment all we heard was fabric and breath.
Then his voice returned.
“If she asks you whether I called, tell her no. Hate me for asking that. I mean it. Hate me.”
My vision blurred.
The message should have ended. Twenty-eight seconds was not enough room for what had already happened.
But he kept speaking.
“Please, Jonah. She will choose me over herself.”
Then silence.
One final breath.
The recording ended.
Nobody moved.
Jonah stared at the darkened screen.
Elise began to cry without making a sound.
I could not.
My body had apparently decided tears were an extravagance.
Jonah played it again.
“Elise,” I said.
She reached for him.
He jerked the phone away.
“I said play it again,” he muttered.
“You already did.”
“I need to hear—”
“You heard him.”
“He said she’d choose him.”
