The muted hum of the heater filled the kitchen, a constant in the quiet around me.
I stood there, feeling the cold seep through the walls.
“I’m getting married tomorrow. I sold your car and your house. Goodbye.”
His words hung in the air, each one colder than the last.
I looked at him, searching for something familiar.
But his eyes were distant, unreadable.
The room seemed smaller, as if the walls were closing in.
“Why?”
The question slipped from my lips, a whisper against the silence.
He shrugged, a casual motion that felt like a punch to the gut.
“It’s for the best,” he said, his voice flat and final.
The heater hummed on, a monotonous backdrop to my unraveling world.
I turned, looking out to the garden, the one constant in my life.
But even that felt distant now.
My hands trembled slightly as I reached for my coffee cup.
The ceramic was cool and grounding.
“You could have talked to me,” I said, my voice strained.
He remained silent, his gaze somewhere else.
The realization settled in, heavy and unmovable.
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