He closed his eyes, voice cracking. “You said you would find out about her.”
“Come in, Dorian.”
He stepped inside, already drowning.
But I offered it anyway—knowing exactly what he needed.
“Whiskey?”
“Double,” he muttered, collapsing onto the couch, already half gone.
He didn’t speak for a while. Just stared at nothing, hands clenched, his breaths uneven. I poured the drink and watched him down it in one desperate gulp.
“It’s been six weeks, Leah,” he said, voice low, broken. “Nothing. No calls. No texts. She just... vanished.”
He ran a hand through his wet hair; frustration etched deep in every movement.
“At first, she didn’t answer. And now… it doesn’t even ring anymore. I have no way to reach her. No number for her family. No address. Nothing.”
A bitter laugh escaped me — hollow, sharp, and full of disbelief.
“Guess that tells you everything you need to know?”
I twisted the knife, slow and deliberate, watching him bleed beneath his own words.
Oh, poor boy. So, trusting. So easy to bend when he’s already broken.
He shook his head slightly, as if trying to make sense of a puzzle with missing pieces.
“I just don’t get it,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “It was only five months… but it felt like a lifetime. Nothing about it was casual. Not for me.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.
“She was supposed to finish her studies and then…”
The rest caught in his throat. He looked away, eyes glassy, jaw clenched.
“I was going to go back for her,” he said finally. “Not right away, but after… after I figured things out.”
He paused, staring into the empty glass in his hands.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have let her go.”
His lips parted, like he wanted to say more—but no sound came.
These weeks, he had been unraveling. Alone. I knew it.
No word from her. No contact. No closure. Just a gaping wound that festered in silence. He must have replayed everything in his head—the promises they whispered. Wondering when it all turned into a lie. And every day that passed without a trace from her made him easier to crack.
I didn’t need to guess. I knew him.
Even after our marriage ended, I had made sure to never cut the thread. A text on his birthday. A construction lead when he’d been between jobs. A client contacts here. A well-timed compliment there. Just enough warmth to keep the door ajar.
Calculated. Strategic. Intentional.
He didn’t even see it. But I had never let him go.
Not fully. Not when he could still be useful.
