CHARLOTTE’S P.O.V. Justin didn’t come home that night… or the next, or the one after that. At first, I told myself I didn’t care and that I was happy that he was gone. I packed boxes in silence, folded clothes, put them into my suitcases, and sorted through years of our lives together piece by piece, trying to decide what I could take that would have the fewest memories tied to it. I wanted to move on and have a fresh start, but every night that he didn't return, I watched the clock. I couldn’t tell if I was anxious for him to come home or scared that he wouldn’t. Every time headlights passed outside, my stomach twisted, and every time my phone buzzed, my heart betrayed me. I hated myself for it. Especially after Tara’s messages kept coming, she was insistent on rubbing it in my face, as if she were proud to be with a man who could lie and cheat so easily. I should have blocked her, but instead, I tortured myself. Unable to sleep in our bed, I found myself wrapped in a blank
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