Chapter 43 Breaking Point
Breaking Point
The silence was suffocating.
Mallory stood frozen, her phone still warm in her palm, the weight of the call with Chase hanging in the air like the last crack of thunder after a storm.
She hadn’t even tucked it away before Savannah stepped into the living room.
Mallory’s stomach twisted.
Savannah’s eyes—wide, glassy, desperate—locked onto hers, searching for something. Anything.
Mallory had no idea how much she had overheard.
She wished she could have one second—just one—to figure out how to do this without breaking her.
But Savannah wasn’t going to let her.
The weight in her gaze demanded answers.
“How long have you been standing there?” Mallory’s voice barely made it past the lump in her throat.
Savannah took a step forward. Arms crossed. Defensive. Bracing herself.
Like she already knew.
“Long enough,” she whispered.
Mallory exhaled.
There was no delaying this. No sugarcoating it.
Savannah’s voice was barely above a breath when she spoke again.
“You called him.”
Not a question. Just a fact.
Mallory nodded. “Yeah.”
Savannah’s chest rose and fell, her fingers curling into fists against her sides. She had been waiting for this. For something. A sign.
She just never expected it to feel like this.
“And?” she croaked.
Mallory hesitated.
She wanted to lie. Wanted to find a way to soften it. To dull the blade before it struck.
But she couldn’t.
Not when Savannah was already standing there, unraveling right in front of her.
“He said he’s just started picking up the pieces.”
The words landed between them like a dull, lifeless thud.
Savannah stilled.
A fracture. A break. A fucking wreckage. Mallory could see it happening in real time.
The way the color drained from Savannah’s face. The way her shoulders curved inward. The way her breath hitched in her throat like she was seconds from collapsing.
And then—Mallory made it worse.
So much worse.
“The pieces you left behind.”
Savannah sucked in a sharp breath.
She staggered back like Mallory had driven a knife straight into her chest, her hands trembling, her lips parting in a silent gasp. Her knees buckled, but she caught herself, fingers clutching the edge of the coffee table like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
Mallory clenched her jaw, hating herself for saying it.
For making Savannah hear it. For making her feel it.
But the truth was the truth. Savannah had wrecked him.
And now? Now, she was wrecking herself.
Her breathing was sharp, uneven, ragged—like she was seconds from breaking apart right in front of her.
The house was silent. Too silent.
The kind of quiet that presses down on your chest, that fills every inch of a room with the weight of what’s left unsaid.
Savannah stood in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around herself as if she could physically hold herself together. But she was unraveling, and she felt every thread pulling loose.
Mallory was still on the couch, her phone screen dark now, fingers gripping the fabric of the cushion beneath her.
The air between them was thick. Suffocating.
And then—
Savannah’s phone buzzed.
The sound split the silence like a gunshot.
She flinched.
Mallory barely noticed it at first, too caught up in watching Savannah, bracing for the fallout.
But then—She saw it.
The way Savannah froze. The way her breath caught. The way her fingers trembled as she lifted her phone, staring at the screen as if moving would make it real.
Mallory frowned. “What is it?”
Savannah didn’t respond. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.
Her thumb hovered over the screen for a second—just one second—before she clicked the message open.
Chase: Take care of yourself, Monroe.
Savannah’s stomach dropped.
Her fingers curled around the edges of her phone, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping her from completely falling apart.
It was Chase—-After all this time. After months of silence.
This was what he had to say?
Not a plea. Not an I miss you. Not a come back.
Just—take care. Like she was a stranger.
A distant memory. A past he had already put behind him.
The air left her lungs in a sharp, painful exhale.
She felt Mallory watching her, waiting for a reaction. For anything.
But Savannah couldn’t move.
Because that?
That was final.
That was Chase walking away. That was him letting her go.
Savannah swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe.
But the oxygen didn’t help. Nothing helped.
She needed to move. To do something—anything—before the weight of it crushed her.
Slowly, she turned and walked toward the kitchen, her steps heavy, her hands numb.
Mallory didn’t stop her. She didn’t say anything.
Savannah gripped the edge of the counter, staring out the window, chest rising and falling unevenly.
The sky was dark now, city lights flickering to life in the distance.
But it didn’t feel like home.
Not anymore.
Because home had never been Asheville.
It had been him.
She pressed a palm against the cool granite, grounding herself, fighting against the storm raging inside her.
And that’s when she heard it—