The ride home was quiet, except for the swish of the windshield wipers against the glass. I leaned my head against the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of neon. For the first time in five years, I didn’t check my phone every thirty seconds to see if Jamie had texted. I didn't rehearse an apology for leaving early. I just… breathed.When the car pulled up to the house, it felt less like a home and more like a museum. Everything inside was curated by Jamie’s taste. The monochromatic furniture, the discerning artworks, the lack of a single family photo. He didn't want to be reminded that anyone else lived there.I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water, the sound of my shoes echoing as I walked. This was my life.I went upstairs to our bedroom which felt like a hotel room. I unzipped my dress, wiped away the makeup that always covered my expressions like a mask, and brushed out the hair that Jamie had called a mess.I remembered the early days,
آخر تحديث : 2026-05-01
