Chris ended the call and let the phone slide from his palm to the table, the screen going dark. For a moment he just sat there, thumb brushing absently along the edge of the case. The latte beside him had long since gotten cold. The breakfast tray, croissant, fruit, and a little dish of honey sat untouched. His stomach was a knot; he couldn't force himself to eat. Not after his talk with Andrew and Mia, not after feeling guilty about hiding what he was from his own small family.
He leaned back in the chair, phone still in his hand, staring at nothing. 'Survivor, not martyr,' he'd said. The words echoed in his head, but his fingers felt cold.
A soft click broke the silence.
