Chapter Thirteen - The Morning After

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Morning After

IT WAS QUIET.
The kind of quiet that doesn’t bring peace, just proof that something’s missing.

No toothbrush beside mine.
No music playing from the bathroom.
No sleepy voice asking where the hell I put the coffee filters.

Just stillness.
And the sound of me breathing like I forgot how.

I woke up on the couch.
Didn’t even remember falling asleep.
My neck hurt. My chest hurt worse.

The blanket she’d thrown over me before she left was still there.
Her kindness, always stronger than her anger, somehow made it worse.

It wasn’t like the movies.
No dramatic montage.
No pouring rain or voicemail confessions.

Just me, staring at the ceiling, wondering if last night was the end of us.

I checked my phone.
Nothing.

I typed something.
Deleted it.

Typed again.

“I don’t even know what to say.”

Deleted that too.

Because what do you say after a night like that?
What can words do when it wasn’t about words in the first place?

I moved through the day like a ghost.

Washed a dish. Didn’t finish.
Tried to eat. Couldn’t swallow.
Laid on the floor and stared at the spot where she cried the week before.

And that’s when it hit me:

If she doesn’t come back, this isn’t just heartbreak.
This is losing my favorite version of life.

Around 4 PM, the sun broke through the blinds and lit up the space like it was trying to remind me what warmth looked like.
I sat in it for a while.

And I made a choice.

Not to chase her.
Not to beg.
But to finally tell the truth.

The whole thing.
No pride.
No edits.

I picked up my phone, stared at the empty screen, and said aloud:

“If I’m gonna lose her, I’m not gonna lose her quietly.”