Twenty minutes late, Lena sweeps into Latte Latte, immediately apologizing. “I’m sorry I’m late, sweetie. The head chef from the downtown branch called to tell me there’s been some kind of electric malfunction. The whole kitchen is down.”

“Oh, wow. Do you have time to be here?”

She waves away my concerns with a sweep of her hand. “I’ve got Janet on it. What am I going to do anyway? I’m not an electrician.”

I sigh wistfully. “God, I’d love your life.”

“Latte?”

My cup is empty. I guzzled down coffee while I was waiting, as well as a muffin—although the waitress has already cleared away the evidence. When Lena asks if I want a treat, I casually ask for a brownie and pig out. I’ve gained five pounds in the three months since Cole left.

Lena returns from the counter with a tray of goodies and sits down beside me. We’re at the small round table by the window on low, well-cushioned chairs with geometric patterns.

Outside, a young woman with blue hair and Doc Martens is trying to drag a stubborn basset hound down the street. Lena follows my gaze and laughs. “Have you considered getting a dog?”

I make a face. “I thought spinsters like me were meant to get cats.”

“Maybe you should break the mold.”

“I could get a St. Bernard.”

“No. I think you’re more of a Bichon Frise gal.”

“Are you kidding? Those things look like pom-poms. If I’m going to get a dog, I want one that looks like a dog.”

“A pug?”

I laugh. “Hmm. Still not so sure. Maybe a nice terrier or something.”

“Seriously? You nearly killed me when I spilled wine on your sofa. I feel sorry for any dog you get.”

“Hey, that sofa was my one big splurge. Everything else was from thrift stores and Craigslist.”

Lena smiles. “It’s good to hear you joking again.”

I take a sip of my latte and smile. “It’s good to joke.”

“How are you doing?”

I shrug. “Funny enough, it’s easier getting over Cole the second time. You’re right. I just needed to get him out of my system.”

It’s a complete lie. As soon as I wake up every morning, I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. I’ve never felt more alone in my life. But I don’t want Lena to know. It’s bad enough that she’s seen me break down a second time.

“How’s work? You must have heard about the promotion by now.”

“I’ve had the interview. They’re going to tell us who’s been selected next week.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you. Not that I need to—you hold that place together.”

“Thanks, Lena.”

We chat about work and our parents for a while when suddenly, I’m distracted by something I spot out of the corner of my eye.

On the windowsill next to us is a rack of papers and magazines. There’s The New York Times. Instinctively, I reach for it. Since Cole left, I’ve scoured every copy, just to get some idea of where he is and what he’s doing.

I don’t need to scour this copy. Cole’s photo is on the front page, a credit to his work in tiny print underneath the picture. “Oh, my god,” I breathe. “He’s in Syria.”

Lena’s eyes widen, and she grabs the paper from my hands. “Cole? I thought he was going to Sudan.”

“He was there. One of his pictures was on page six last month. He must have moved on.”

I look at the photograph. It depicts a line of soldiers with their guns raised marching by the cover of a brick wall. Behind the wall, the Syrian landscape is in full view. Smoke spirals from the ruins. It looks like a shot from World War II.

“The story’s from Idlib,” Lena tells me, reading from the article out loud. “Two hospitals were hit by airstrikes by pro-Assad forces.” She looks up at me to see my reaction.

My trembling hand is over my mouth, and I’m shaking. My stomach is in knots. I think about the last time Cole was shooting in a war zone in ruins like this. A building collapsed on him. I can’t help it; the tears stream down my face.

Lena reaches across and closes her fingers around mine. “There’s nothing in here about any photographers being injured. Cole is fine.”

“He’s out there, among all that chaos. Air strikes? What if he’s in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

My heart is pounding so fast in my chest it feels more like it’s vibrating. I lay my hand over it, feeling it shuddering beneath my palm.

“He’s a professional. He’s got a team with him. He’ll be there for five minutes and then onto the next story. He’ll be out of Syria by next week’s headline.”

My tears turn into sobs. “I told him to go.”

“He was always going to go.”

“I could have begged him to stay.”

“This is what he wanted,” Lena tells me firmly, brandishing the paper. “He wants this kind of adrenaline and adventure. It’s all he ever spoke about. He wants to be in danger. He wants to be in the action. This is the kind of stuff he lives for.”

I try to calm down. I pick up a paper napkin from the holder and blow my nose. People in the coffee shop are casting awkward little glances in my direction. I’m making a scene.

I take a few deep breaths and lower my voice. “I can’t believe he’s out there. It’s too real.”

“It’s not your job to worry about him anymore.”

“I’ll always worry about him. I love him.”

Lena’s gaze is sympathetic; maybe a little pitying. “I thought you said you were getting over him?”

I let out a long breath and raise my hands helplessly. “I love him.”

She squeezes my hand. “Stop reading The New York Times, Soph. It’s making you anxious. If anything happens to Cole, you’ll know about it soon enough. It’ll be on the news. You don’t need to keep torturing yourself by looking at these pictures. Remember: he’s supposed to make it look dramatic and terrible. That’s his job.”

“You’re right.”

I fold the paper and stuff it back in the rack, hiding the photograph from view. “Let’s not talk about Cole anymore.”

“We might as well. He’s all you’re going to be able to think about now.”

“I can’t help it. I miss him.”

“I know you do. But you sent him away for a reason, remember? He would have made you unhappy. Christ, he’s making you unhappy even when he’s not here.”

“Sometimes I hate him,” I confess. “I think about how he strung me along and then cut me loose. I think about all the promises he made and how he broke them all, and I just—I hate him for it. Then, the second I see one of his pictures in the paper, and I’m reminded that he’s out there somewhere, I can only think about all the good times. He’s career-obsessed, but that’s his only flaw.”

Lena scoffs. “Are you kidding? The man has an ego the size of Mars. He’s selfish and demanding.”

“He has his moments, but far more often, he’s kind and caring. You can’t tell me that James is perfect all the time, that he never rubs you the wrong way?”

“Of course, he does, but that’s different.”

“How’s it different?”

“Because he always puts me first, and I always put him first. That’s what love is, Sophie. If it’s not two-way, it’s not love. It’s obsession.”

“You’re saying I’m obsessed?”

“I’m saying that this isn’t what love is supposed to look like. You need to let him go.”

“It’s not that easy.”

She offers me an understanding smile. “I know that.”

“Let’s keep our fingers crossed that I get this promotion. At least then I’ll have a ton of work to help take my mind off Cole and whatever crisis he’s jumping into next.”