Sometimes I try to picture the moment it changed.
The moment he stopped loving me.
But the truth is, maybe I just didn’t know him very well.
Even after all those years.
And maybe he didn’t know me either.
Maybe we both saw the people we wanted to see.
And ignored the rest.
The thought makes something hot and angry twist inside my chest.
I yank open another drawer in the dresser.
Then another.Papers slide everywhere as I dig through them.
Bills.
Receipts.
Old photos.
Anything that might explain how the man I trusted with my life turned into someone I barely recognize.
“Kelly, what are you doing?”
Willow’s voice comes from the doorway.
I don’t stop.I slam another drawer shut and open the next one like I’m hunting for buried treasure.Or maybe a ghost.
“I’m looking,” I mutter.
“For what?”she asks gently.
“For anything.”
Anything he left behind.
Any clue.
Any piece of the man I thought I knew.
But the deeper I dig, the clearer something else becomes.
There’s nothing here.
No explanation or apology.No sudden reason why he’s gone.
Just empty space where a life used to be.
My hands finally go still.
I stare down at the mess of papers and photos scattered across the bed.For a moment, the weight of it all presses down so hard I can barely breathe.
Forty-two.
