Chapter Five: Pieces of Us

The apartment was silent when she woke up.

Not the quiet of peace, not the calm of early morning. Just absence.

Allen hadn’t come home. 

Mia lay on her side, staring at the ceiling. The shadows of the blinds stretched across the walls, sharp and cold, cutting lines through the dim light. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the hollow where his warmth had been. His absence wasn’t just emptiness. It was a weight pressing down, a slow, suffocating pressure she hadn’t known she could feel.

She stayed there for a long time, listening to the faint hum of the city outside, to the quiet rhythm of her own breathing. Each inhale was shallow. Each exhale trembled. She wondered when this had started—this creeping, gnawing feeling that the life she had built with him was nothing more than a story she had told herself to sleep at night.

Eventually, she rose. Her legs felt heavy, almost foreign. She moved through the apartment slowly, as if rediscovering it for the first time. Everything smelled like them, like the life they had built together and the love she had clung to, desperately, even when it no longer existed. The faint scent of his cologne lingered, taunting her, a cruel reminder of all the intimacy she had offered freely, only to have it returned with indifference.

Her suitcase lay open on the bed. She hadn’t touched it since yesterday, when he had dropped the divorce papers on the counter with that same effortless coldness.

Now she started. Slowly. Tentatively.

One sweater. Folded. One pair of shoes. Placed gently. Each item carried memories she hadn’t realized she was still holding onto—lazy Sunday mornings with coffee in hand, the warmth of his arm across her shoulders, the careless way he had brushed hair from her face.

Her fingers lingered on a photograph. Allen smiling, arm around her waist, unaware of how temporary that moment would be. She kissed it softly, as if sealing a farewell, and slipped it carefully into the suitcase.

Her mind raced. Why now? The question repeated itself relentlessly. Why does he end this like it’s nothing? After all of it. After me. After us.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the divorce papers. The stack was heavier than she expected. Each line of typewritten words seemed to echo in her head: irreconcilable differences, final judgment, signatures required. She touched the first page with a shaking finger, then the next. The words blurred under the tears she refused to let fall.

Her pen hovered.

She took a deep, trembling breath. Heart hammering. Fingers numb. I can’t undo this. He won’t stop this. And I… I can’t make him care.

Slowly. Deliberately. She signed her name. Each stroke felt like a surrender. A concession to the fact that the man she loved—no, the man she had thought she knew—was gone. Not gone in the sense of leaving, but gone in his indifference, in his inability to care, in the ice-cold wall he had built between them.

The pen clicked. She set it down.

Next, the gift. The one she had bought months ago. Wrapped in soft gold paper, tied with a ribbon she had agonized over. She had imagined the smile on his face. Imagined him being touched. Imagined—foolishly—that it could reach him, even a little.

Now she placed it on the table beside the papers. Alongside it, her wedding ring, which felt heavier in her hand than it ever had on her finger. She stared at the two objects for a long moment, then let them fall gently onto the surface. Symbols of a life she was erasing. Tokens of hope she no longer had.

Mia sank to the floor, hugging her knees. The apartment felt impossibly large. Every sound echoed. Every shadow mocked her. Her chest tightened. She pressed one hand to her stomach, a subconscious effort to hold herself together, to remind herself that some part of her life—some part of her—still mattered.

She thought of Allen.

Not the man in front of her, the man who had given her cold papers and sharper indifference. Not the man who would never return her love with anything but detachment. She thought of the man she had loved, the one who had been patient, tender, mischievous, who had made her laugh, made her feel safe. And the betrayal pressed like a fist against her ribs.

How could someone who loved me once, who claimed to, be so cold now?

She didn’t know if she wanted answers or to be left alone. Both, maybe.

Her suitcase stood ready. Her hands felt clammy as she zipped it slowly, deliberately, item by item. Each zipper pull was a heartbeat. A tiny act of reclaiming herself.

And yet, the thought of leaving the apartment—the life she had known, the familiarity, the city she loved in fragments—filled her with dread. A dread so deep it twisted her stomach.

Her phone buzzed. A message from a friend, checking in. She ignored it. Couldn’t type. Couldn’t explain. Couldn’t admit that she was leaving. Not yet. Not while her chest still felt like a battlefield.

Eventually, she stood. Grabbing the suitcase, she left the apartment without looking back. The door clicked shut behind her.

Outside, the air was crisp. The streets were already alive with traffic, with people moving fast, unaware of the storm inside her. The city seemed indifferent, like Allen. And for a brief moment, she envied them.

Her footsteps were measured. Each step deliberate. A rhythm she could rely on when nothing else made sense. The road ahead stretched, unbroken.

She didn’t see the other car until it was too late.

It came from a side street, sudden, inevitable.

Time slowed.

She turned the wheel, swerved, but the asphalt betrayed her. Tires screeched, metal groaned, the world tilted violently.

The sound was sharp, piercing, echoing in her ears.

Everything inside her twisted—panic, disbelief, fear, helplessness.

Voices erupted around her. Shouts. Commands. Frantic calls.

“Someone call an ambulance!”

“Is she… okay?”

The chaos engulfed her, overwhelming. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe properly. Couldn’t move.

And in that moment, lying in the middle of the collision of life and metal, she felt the last fragile threads of control slip away.

Her eyes closed.

Her hands still clutched the wheel. Her body trembled.

The shouts grew louder, urgent, desperate.

The world blurred around her, voices overlapping, indistinct. Her body jerked. Pain radiated from everywhere at once.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe properly.

And then, amid the chaos, she felt the last fragile threads of control slip through her fingers.

Her eyes closed.

Her hands, still clutching the steering wheel, trembled.

The world tilted.

The shouting grew louder, frantic, urgent.

And then—the darkness.