Never Returning Home

Just as my flight confirmation came through, Hannah Levin reached out to me via video call.

On the screen, she was standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window in her hotel room.

She smiled at me. “Honey, why are you still up?”

Had I not seen those six hundred posts, the sound of her voice would have probably softened me as it always did.

I did not answer right away.

Hannah spoke in the same affectionate tone she always used. “Do you miss me? Work’s almost done here. I’ll be home in three days at most, and I’ll bring you a present.”

“Are you alone in the hotel room?” I asked.

Her expression did not change in the slightest. If anything, her smile became even more convincing. “Of course I am. Didn’t I promise I’d come straight back to the hotel after work and not go anywhere else?”

The moment she finished speaking, a man’s laughter came from somewhere behind her.

Hannah’s smile froze for a split second.

Then she quickly angled the camera away and said with feigned annoyance, “My coworkers are having a meeting next door. They’re so loud. I’ll call you back later.”

I stared at the darkened screen as a chill spread through my hands, leaving my fingers numb.

Hannah used to keep me away from her social circle. She said she was worried someone might try to steal me from her.

That was why I never attended her parties with friends. I never went to her company’s annual dinners either.

Even when her best friend got married, she simply said, “You’re too handsome, honey. I don’t want them getting any ideas.”

My eyes began to sting, but I could not stop myself from opening her profile again through my anonymous account and studying the photographs.

Wearing a white dress, Hannah’s hair was tousled by the sea breeze as she lifted her face to kiss the man. She was smiling like a girl whose greatest wish had finally come true.

Yet in all the seven years we had been together, she had never once posted a picture of us.

She always had an explanation.

“Honey, I just don’t want anyone interfering in our lives.”

“A relationship is just between the two of us. We don’t need to put it on display for everyone else.”

“I’m possessive. I don’t want anyone else to know how wonderful you are.”

I had believed her.

I finally understood that it was not that she disliked showing off the person she loved. She simply never wanted to show me off.

Someone commented beneath the post, “Hannah, you’re the real deal! You made it public from day one. Has it really been three years already?”

Hannah replied, “I couldn’t stand keeping him a secret. He deserves to be known.”

I stared at those words for a long time.

In seven years, she had never made our relationship official.

We lived together, raised a cat, and stood beside each other through every joy and hardship.

Yet there was no trace of me on her social media.

Her friends did not even know I existed.

The love she proudly showed the world belonged to someone else.

I, on the other hand, was like an old piece of clothing tucked deep in a closet. Clean, quiet, and always there whenever she felt like reaching for me again.

My phone buzzed again with a message from her.

[Honey, the signal was bad just now.]

[Get some rest, okay? Don’t overthink things.]

[I love you more than anyone.]

I did not reply.

I opened the closet and pushed her shirts aside one by one. Hanging at the very back was the white shirt I had bought the year before.

I had worn it on her birthday while waiting for her to come home for dinner.

She never came back that night. She said she had been called in to work at the last minute.

However, according to her social media, she had spent that evening at the opera with the other man. Her caption said: I remember everything he loves.

I took the shirt out and threw it into the trash.

Then I packed my ID, bank cards, laptop, and a few changes of clothes.

After seven years, there was painfully little I could take with me. As for everything I had to leave behind, I no longer wanted any of it.