The next door love

I kept pacing around the restaurant, my heels clicking softly against the floor as I checked my phone again.

No new messages.

The waiter passed by our table for the third time, his polite smile beginning to fade. The candle between the two empty plates had burned low, and the bouquet of roses Jason ordered days ago sat untouched.

It was our third anniversary.

And he wasn’t here.

“Are you ready to order, miss?” the waiter asked gently.

I forced a smile. “Not yet. He’ll be here soon.”

That was the lie I kept repeating—to him and to myself.

An hour passed. Then another. I texted Jason again.

Where are you?

I’m at the restaurant.

Nothing.

By the third hour, my excitement had turned into worry. My chest felt tight, and my hands wouldn’t stop trembling. I called him.

Straight to voicemail.

“Hey,” I whispered into the phone, trying to sound calm. “It’s me. Call me when you see this, okay?”

By the fourth hour, the restaurant was nearly empty.

I stood up abruptly, grabbing my bag. “Thank you,” I told the waiter when he approached again, pity clear in his eyes. “I’m leaving.”

Outside, the night air hit my skin as I got into my car. My hands shook as I started the engine.

Maybe something happened, I told myself. Maybe he forgot and feels terrible.

I decided to go to his apartment. Maybe I’d surprise him instead.

The drive felt endless. My mind ran through excuses for him—traffic, work, exhaustion—anything but the truth I wasn’t ready to face.

When I pulled into his parking lot and saw his car, relief flooded me.

“He’s home,” I whispered.

I grabbed my bag and hurried to his door, fishing out the key he’d given me when he moved in.

“You live here too,” he’d said back then, smiling.

I unlocked the door quietly and stepped inside.

At first, I only heard sounds—soft, intimate sounds that made my stomach drop.

“No,” I breathed.

I took a few steps forward, my heart pounding so loud I was sure they’d hear it.

Then I saw them.

Jason was in the living room with another woman—his assistant. Her head snapped up first, eyes widening in shock.

“Oh my God,” she gasped.

Jason turned.

His face drained of color. “Amara—”

I couldn’t breathe. My chest burned like it was on fire.

“So this is why you missed our anniversary?” I whispered.

He stepped toward me quickly, panic written all over his face. “Wait—listen, it’s not—”

“Don’t,” I said sharply, holding up my hand. “Please don’t insult me.”

The girl scrambled to grab her clothes, avoiding my eyes.

“How long?” I asked, my voice shaking despite my effort to stay calm.

Jason opened his mouth, then closed it. “It just—happened.”

I laughed bitterly. “Four hours. I waited for you for four hours.”

“I was going to come,” he said desperately. “Something came up.”

I gestured around the room. “This came up?”

Silence fell heavy between us.

“I trusted you,” I continued, tears finally slipping down my cheeks. “I defended you when people warned me. I loved you.”

“Amara, please,” he said, reaching for me. “We can talk about this.”

I stepped back. “No. You don’t get to touch me anymore.”

My hands were shaking as I turned toward the door.

“Don’t leave,” he called after me.

I paused, my back still to him. “You already left me,” I said quietly.

Then I walked out.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t slam the door.

But something inside me shattered completely.

I walked into that restaurant someone’s girlfriend.

And I walked out of his apartment with my heart in pieces.