I wake up to an empty, cold bed. The sheets are tangled, crumpled where I'd tossed and turned, but Gregory's side is eerily bare. The pillow still bears the faint imprint of his face, but he's gone. Just like that.
For a moment, I lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to process the quiet. It's strange—how the night before feels so vivid, yet now, the silence feels heavier than the noise of our whispered moans. I reach out instinctively, expecting to feel him beside me, but the space beside me is vacant.
I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed, trying to shake off the sudden, inexplicable sadness. I check the clock. Still early—way too early for him to have left without saying goodbye. I slip out of bed and pad quietly to the door.
