On My Ex's Brother's Bed
I agreed, not for anything else, but to give myself and my company some time to buffer.
Because deep down, I knew nothing he said could fix what was already broken.
He slumped, defeated. “Thank you,” he whispered.
I zipped my suitcase and pulled it behind me. I moved through the hallway. I didn’t look back and I didn’t say goodbye.
As I walked past the living room, I heard him move behind me. Then a heavy thud, followed by another, louder this time. I paused in the doorway and looked over my shoulder.
John was smashing the wedding photos, one by one. The frames hit the floor, glass breaking everywhere. The sound of shattering glass was eerily like our broken marriage.
Bab Populer