Enough tiptoeing.Enough waiting.Enough pretending.
He needs to know.
He needs to understand the stakes.
I press my trembling hand against the door, feeling the cold, unyielding wood.Shoulders squared, chin lifted, I try to project an image of strength even though my insides tremble.
Deep breath.
Open the door.
Face him.
I turn the key, push the door open, and step inside.The silence hits me first.Heavy.Suffocating.It smothers any lingering hope I might have harbored.I expected the murmur of the TV, or maybe the clatter of him in the kitchen, but there’s nothing.
He’s not here.
Of course he’s not here.
My carefully constructed armor of defiance cracks.
The apartment is cold.Sterile.Stripped of any warmth or personality.Stagnant air carries a faint trace of musk and leather.A scent that used to make me feel safe, wrapped up in his arms.Now it’s just a painful reminder of what was, and what will never be.
I walk to the kitchen counter and pour a glass of ice-cold water, downing it in one gulp.The chill is a momentary distraction.
I take my phone out of my purse.My thumb hovers over his name.
I should call to check if he’s coming home.
The thought makes my stomach churn, but the alternative is worse.I can’t risk running into him unexpectedly.I tap the number, then shut my eyes, bracing myself.
His voicemail message, smooth and professional, fills my ear.I hang up before the beep, a strange mix of relief and disappointment washing over me.
I try the number again.Nothing.
I consider texting, but delete the half-written message.
What’s the point?
I shove the phone into my back pocket.My gaze sweeps across the living room.It’s neat, almost unnaturally so.Not a single magazine out of place.No stray remote control.The throw pillows perfectly aligned.
Do we really live here?
I don’t even remember the last time we sat on that sectional together.
I grab my purse and head for the bedroom, my footsteps echoing in the stillness.
The bed is unmade, a chaotic mess of tangled sheets… but only on one side.The other side is pristine.A cold, empty expanse that mocks the idea of intimacy.A testament to another night spent alone.Another night of tossing and turning, reaching for someone who wasn’t there.
I remember a time when this bed was a place of warmth, laughter and shared dreams.I remember how we couldn’t wait to fall into it together.Now, it’s just another piece of furniture in an empty life.
A lump forms in my throat.I swallow hard, fighting back the urge to cry.
My phone buzzes, a sharp, intrusive vibration.A jolt of adrenaline shoots through me.For a split second, I let myself hope.Foolishly.Desperately.
It’s him.Calling to apologize.To explain.
But it’s just a text.
