I didn't know if it was guilt. Or habit. Or something else entirely.
I opened his profile without thinking.
The moment it loaded, I froze.
His profile picture had changed.
It was a couple photo.
But not with me.
I didn't hesitate.
I returned both transfers immediately.
A few seconds later, my phone buzzed again.
A string of question marks.
I didn't reply.
When I got back to the apartment, nothing had changed.
Everything was exactly the same as the night of the gala. The same shoes by the door. The same jacket tossed over the chair. The same faint scent lingering in the air, cologne and something sharper beneath it, the ghost of a world where decisions were made in back rooms and sealed with handshakes that could never be taken back.
Which meant one thing.
He hadn't been back.
Not once.
I stood there for a moment, letting the silence settle around me. Then I took a deep breath, pushed down the tight ache rising in my chest, and started packing.
It didn't take long.
Piece by piece, the space began to empty.
Five years.
Five years of a life I had carefully built around him, dismantled in just a few hours.
Most of what I packed were things I had chosen myself.
Couple items.