She’s right. And instead of going back in to prove her wrong, I slide into my truck like a coward and start driving.
The roads blur under my headlights, familiar streets that don’t feel familiar at all. My hands move on instinct, but my head is somewhere else. Everywhere else. The guilt follows me no matter how fast I go.
I should be home. I should be fixing what I broke. I should be choosing mywife.
But the truth is something I can’t outrun. I’ve been choosing Sarah for years, even when she wasn’t in the room. Even when I slipped a ring on another woman’s finger.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, the leather groaning under my hands. My vows were supposed to be a line I wouldn’t cross, but I never really stayed on the right side of it did I? Not when Sarah’s face lives under my skin. Not when the sound of her laugh still cuts through every silence. Not when her name sits on the back of my tongue, waiting.
The truck eats up miles, and I let it. Block after block, stoplight after stoplight, until the houses start to look familiar in a way that makes my stomach twist.
By the time I realize where I am, it’s too late.
Sarah’s neighborhood.
My chest tightens when I slow at the corner. Porch lights glow in soft pools, dogs bark somewhere in the distance, and the street is too quiet, too still. I shouldn’t be here. God, IknowI shouldn’t.
But my headlights skim over her driveway, and instinct has me checking for her car before I can stop myself. It’s there. Same spot. Same house. I told myself I’d never come here again.
I pull to the curb anyway.
Her window is lit on the second floor, blinds drawn but cracked just enough for a sliver of light to spill out. A shadow moves behind it, and my breath catches. She’s awake.
I shouldn’t know that. I shouldn’t care. But the sight of her light glowing in the dark yanks me back to every night I ever watched her walk away, every second I let her slip through my fingers.
My hand drags down my face, rough and useless. I should turn the wheel, hit the gas, and get as far from here as possible before I make this worse. Before I ruin everything beyond repair.
But I don’t.
I sit there like an idiot, engine idling, caught between the life I promised and the life I wanted. The ring on my finger feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, pressing into the steering wheel. My vows echo in my head, hollow now, words I meant but couldn’t keep.
I glance back at the window. Still lit.
The urge to get out, to knock on her door, to see her face one more time is so strong it hurts. My hand even twitches toward the handle.
But what then? What the hell would I say? That I’m sorry? That I never stopped loving her? That every day with someone else felt like pretending?
The truth is a weapon, and if I use it now, I’ll burn down whatever pieces of my life are left.
So I stay frozen, one hand on the wheel, one on the gearshift, trapped in the space between leaving and staying.
And that’s where she still has me. Not in her arms, not in her life—but in the pull I can’t shake, the gravity that keeps dragging me back no matter how far I try to run.
My vows might’ve been spoken to someone else, but the truth is brutal, unshakable.
I left them at the altar. I never left her.
Chapter Four
Not Just a Memory
Sarah
The Brew House is louder than I expected for a Tuesday morning. The espresso machine hisses, baristas call out names too quickly to catch, and the low murmur of students cramming before class hums in the background. I tell myself I’ll be in and out in five minutes—just a coffee, no lingering.
The line inches forward, and I dig for my card, keeping my head down. I focus on the scuffed tile beneath my boots, on the crooked corkboard near the door with flyers for tutoring sessions, open mic night, and a missing tabby cat. The Brew House always had this chaos—loud and lived in, never polished—but today it feels like a spotlight. I keep my shoulders rounded,telling myself no one is looking, that I’m invisible if I want to be. But my pulse doesn’t buy it.
I’ve gotten good at slipping through spaces without being noticed, at pretending I don’t see the reminders of him scattered everywhere. Moving back for work was supposed to give me a clean slate. Instead, the town feels smaller than ever, every corner echoing with something I’d rather forget.
