Forty Five
Tilly woke up already rehearsing the apology.
Not the words exactly. The feeling of it. The posture. The part where they didn’t get defensive or try to explain themselves out of the hole they’d dug. They knew they’d screwed up. They knew they hadn’t trusted Savannah when she’d given them no real reason not to.
They just needed to say it right.
They stopped at the bodega on the corner on the way in, the one that always smelled like overripe fruit and coffee.
They stood in front of the flower buckets longer than necessary, hands shoved in their jacket pockets, pretending they were deciding between options when really they were trying not to overthink it.
They picked a small bunch. Nothing dramatic. No roses. Something simple. Yellow and white. The kind of flowers that said I’m here, not forgive me immediately.
The woman at the register raised an eyebrow.
“Someone in trouble?” she asked.
Tilly huffed quietly. “Yeah.”
She wrapped the stems in a paper towel she found in the car and balanced them carefully on the passenger seat, like they might tip over if she hit a pothole wrong.
By the time they pulled into the station lot, their nerves had settled into something steady. They could do this. They would do this.
Savannah would listen.
Inside, the newsroom was already buzzing. Monitors hummed. Producers moved with purpose. A couple of crews laughed near the assignment desk. It all looked the same as always, which made the flowers in Tilly’s hand feel louder than they should have.
They scanned instinctively.
Savannah’s desk was empty.
At first, Tilly didn’t think anything of it. She was probably in makeup. Or grabbing coffee. Or stuck in a meeting.
Tilly dropped their bag by the gear lockers and kept the flowers tucked close as they checked the schedule board. No Savannah listed on any of the morning blocks.
Their chest tightened.
They tried her desk again. Still empty. The chair pushed in. Monitor dark.
“Hey,” Tilly said to the first person who walked past. “Have you seen Savannah?”
Henry glanced over, then did a quick double-take at the flowers. His expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across his face.
“She’s not in today,” he said.
Tilly felt it like a sudden drop. “What do you mean?”
“She called in sick,” Henry replied carefully. “First time I’ve ever seen her do that.”
The words landed heavier than they should have.
“Oh,” Tilly said.
Henry hesitated. “You okay?”
Tilly nodded automatically. “Yeah. I just… okay.”
Henry watched them for another beat, then nodded once and walked off without pressing.
Tilly stood there, flowers still in hand, the newsroom noise rushing back in around them like they’d been underwater and just surfaced.
Savannah wasn’t here.
The thought echoed, stupid and obvious and suddenly overwhelming.
They hadn’t considered this version of the morning. Hadn’t imagined the apology having nowhere to land. The flowers wilted slightly in their grip as they tightened their fingers without realizing it.
They leaned against the gear locker and stared at the floor.
This was what they had been afraid of. Not the argument. Not Savannah being angry.
Missing her completely.
They pulled their phone out, thumb hovering over her name.
They stopped.
Space, Savannah had said. Or maybe Tilly had said it. The words blurred together now, stripped of intent and context. What was space, anyway, when you didn’t know if the other person was still in the room?
Tilly exhaled slowly and looked down at the flowers.
“I’m sorry,” they murmured under their breath, to no one.
They set the bouquet carefully on the empty desk, resting it beside Savannah’s keyboard like a placeholder. Like proof they had shown up, even if she hadn’t.
It wasn’t enough.
They knew that.
But it was all they had right now.
Tilly straightened, slung their camera bag over their shoulder, and headed toward the assignment desk, carrying the weight of an apology that would have to wait.
And hoping they hadn’t waited too long.
Tilly tried to work.
They really did.
They set up gear. Checked batteries. Ran through the day’s assignment without missing a step. On the outside, they looked fine. Focused. Professional. Exactly the version of themself they’d perfected over years of not letting personal things leak into the job.
Inside, everything felt off by a degree they couldn’t correct.
They caught themself glancing toward Savannah’s desk every few minutes anyway, like she might suddenly appear and make the morning make sense again. She didn’t. The flowers sat where they’d left them, a quiet, ridiculous thing on an otherwise ordinary workstation.
Too much. Or not enough. They couldn’t tell anymore.
By mid-morning, the newsroom noise had started to grate. Every laugh sounded louder than it should have. Every chair scrape felt sharp. Tilly adjusted their camera settings for the third time without actually changing anything.
Jamie appeared at their side without announcement, arms folded loosely, expression careful.
“You okay?” she asked.
Tilly glanced up, then down again. “Yeah.”
Jamie raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t a real answer.”
Tilly exhaled through their nose. “I’m working.”
“I can see that,” Jamie said. “I’m asking about the rest of you.”
Tilly hesitated. Jamie waited. She was annoyingly good at that.
“Savannah’s not here,” Tilly said finally.
“I know,” Jamie replied. “That’s why I’m asking.”
That landed heavier than it should have.
Tilly shifted their weight. “I was going to talk to her.”
Jamie’s gaze flicked, just briefly, to the flowers. “I figured.”
There was no judgment in her voice. Just acknowledgment.
“Is she okay?” Tilly asked, the question slipping out before they could stop it.
Jamie considered them for a beat. “She called in sick. Took the day.”
Tilly nodded, even though that didn’t answer anything they actually needed to know.
Jamie softened slightly. “You want me to check in on her?”
Tilly shook their head immediately. “No. I mean, thank you, but no. I think I already made enough of a mess.”
Jamie studied them, then nodded once. “Fair.”
She lingered a second longer, like she wanted to say something else, then thought better of it and walked away.
Tilly stared at the gear locker until the numbers on the lock blurred.
They tried again to focus. Forced themself into motion. Filmed b-roll they’d shot a hundred times before. Packed it up. Unpacked it. Did it again.
By lunchtime, the flowers had started to droop.
Harper stopped by on her way back from grabbing food, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. She clocked the bouquet instantly.
“Those are new,” she said.
Tilly followed her gaze and felt their stomach drop. “Yeah.”
Harper’s expression shifted, something gentler threading through her usual dry amusement. “Sav didn’t see them, did she?”
“No,” Tilly said. “She’s not here.”
Harper frowned. “Right. She called out.”
That single phrase made Tilly look up. “You knew?”
Harper lifted her phone slightly. “Yeah. I saw her name wasn’t on the rundown. I texted her to check in.”
Tilly’s chest tightened. “She answered?”
Harper nodded. “She said she needed today.”
Tilly swallowed. “Did she say anything else?”
Harper shook her head. “No. Just that.”
Tilly nodded, throat tight, and looked away before Harper could read anything else on their face.
Harper lingered anyway. “For what it’s worth, she doesn’t take days off unless something’s really wrong.”
Tilly breathed out slowly. “I know.”
Harper shifted her coffee to her other hand. “Okay. I’m going to say this carefully.”
Tilly braced.
“She didn’t seem mad,” Harper said. “Just seemed tired.”
That hurt worse.
Harper watched them for a beat, then added, quieter, “Savannah isolates when she’s scared. Not when she’s done.”
Tilly didn’t trust their voice, so they just nodded.
Harper gave a small nod back and headed toward her desk, leaving Tilly alone with the hum of the newsroom and the flowers that had started this whole thing.
The rest of the day dragged.
Every hour felt longer than the last. Tilly checked their phone more times than they could count and never once unlocked it. They didn’t text Savannah. They didn’t call. They didn’t want to cross a line they’d already tripped over once.
By the time they packed up to leave, the flowers were limp, petals curling in on themselves.
Tilly threw them away.
They hadn’t stopped wanting Savannah.
They just didn’t know how to reach her without making things worse.
And that uncertainty followed them all the way home.