I pushed the door open just enough to see his laptop glowing in the dark.
Derek slammed it shut so fast the charger hit the floor.
For a second, neither of us said anything.
Then he stood up too quickly and knocked over an empty coffee cup beside the bed. The room smelled stale, like he’d been spending whole nights awake in there for weeks.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Working.”
At 2:30 in the morning. In the dark. With the door locked.
I looked past him. There were fast-food bags on the floor. A blanket tangled on the mattress. Bottles of my shampoo in the bathroom basket. He really had moved out of our room completely.
Then I noticed the second phone.
Not his regular one. A cheap cracked-screen phone sitting beside the laptop.
Derek saw my face change and grabbed it before I could.
“Don’t,” he said quietly.
That word hit harder than yelling would’ve.
Because suddenly I knew this wasn’t about snoring. Or sleep. Or space.
Then the other phone started ringing in his hand.
And my sister’s name lit up across the screen.