My gaze drifts to the kitchen area automatically.
And there she is.
Not really.
Just in my fucked up head.
Standing at the counter with her long hair flowing in the breeze from the open window behind her.
Laughing so hard, her brown eyes crinkle at the corners.
Telling me I’m doing something wrong while she fixes it with those quick hands of hers.
Once upon a time, that woman was everything to me.
Goddammit.
Why’d you do it, Esme?
My jaw tightens.
“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face.
Three years.
Three goddamn years and I still can’t shake her.
Funny how she disappeared without a trace.
Didn’t take a damn thing with her.
Not the money in our account.
Just her old van and some clothes.
The rest of my stuff was boxed up and placed in storage.
With it was our wedding album. Couple of framed photos. The shot glasses we brought back from Tijuana, mismatched cups and dishes we flea marketed together—like someday she was just gonna return and take them all.
But she never did.
She just left. Gone.
Like I never mattered.
Like we never mattered.
A bitter taste coats my tongue.
Maybe she couldn’t stomach it.
Not after what she did.
Not after she betrayed me.
Took another man into our bed while I was overseas.
Not after she fucked Paul.
