This couldn't be right.
Just days ago, Juliet had been living here.
Now it looked as though she had never existed.
His gaze slowly swept across the room until it landed on several cardboard boxes stacked neatly in the corner.
Something inside him sank.
A cold feeling spread through his chest as he found himself walking toward them.
The movement felt automatic, as though his body had already figured out something his mind was still refusing to accept.
When he finally reached the boxes and looked inside, his breath caught.
Every item belonged to him.
Or rather, every item belonged to them.
The watch he had given her years ago.
The stuffed toy she used to sleep with.
The bracelet she had worn so often that he sometimes forgot she ever took it off.
Even the clothes he had accidentally left behind during his visits had been carelessly tossed inside.
Everything connected to him was there.
Every gift.
Every keepsake.
Every memory.
For several long seconds, Vincent simply stared.
His fingers slowly curled at his sides while a strange pressure built in his chest. Because Vincent knew better than anyone how much those things had meant to her.
Juliet had always been sentimental.
She treasured every gift he gave her, no matter how small or insignificant it seemed. He couldn't count how many times he had teased her about it.
Whenever he told her to throw something away, she would immediately hug it to her chest and glare at him.
"No," she would say stubbornly. Then she would smile. "Every gift has a memory."
To Juliet, memories were precious.
That was why she never threw anything away. No matter how old an item became, she kept it. Sometimes he would even catch her taking out old gifts just to look at them. She would sit there smiling to herself, completely content while revisiting moments that had happened years ago.
Back then, Vincent had laughed and called her dramatic.
Now all of those treasured memories were sitting inside a few cardboard boxes.
Discarded.
As though they had never meant anything at all.
