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Riding the bus back to his apartment, Scott pulled out his phone. He’d been so good lately about not checking his messages, wondering every five or ten minutes if he might have an email from her. But even though he knew there wouldn’t be one today, his heart raced as he opened his inbox.
A few messages from coworkers, but nothing that couldn’t wait until he got into the office tomorrow. Two emails from missions’ news websites, which he saved to read later.
And that was all.
The disappointment was as real and as poignant as it had been four months ago.
He stared at his inbox, knowing he should close it. Knowing nothing good could come from keeping it open. Knowing that if he let himself dwell in the past, he’d be useless for the rest of the day.
He tapped the button anyway.
Susannah Peters.
He’d given her emails a folder of their own. It was the only way to keep his inbox even slightly decluttered. There were over a thousand by now. Some were long and would fill three or four pages if he printed them up. Others were nothing more than a quick Bible verse or word of encouragement she wanted to share with him in the middle of a busy day.
He stared at the subject lines, remembering the sweet thrill that always accompanied her notes when they were together.
No, not together in the traditional sense. He’d never held her hand. Never brushed his lips against her temple or run his fingers through her hair. Because of her mom’s strict rules, they’d never even chatted in a video call. The only reason he knew what it was like to stare into her eyes was because of the hours he spent gazing at the one photograph she’d sent him.
Hopeful hours. Hours of prayerful longing and physical yearning.
Wasted, all of them.
The bus jostled, and Scott’s finger accidentally tapped his screen. Or maybe it wasn’t quite as accidental as he wanted to believe, and then he was peering into the documented history of both the deepest joy and sharpest pain of his adult life.
The documented history of all the exhilaration and excitement and thrills as well as the heartache from which there was no escape.