I cried once more—this time harder, louder, messier.
My pillow soaked beneath me, catching every tear like it could hold the weight of my grief.
I cried until my eyes burned and my nose clogged, until breathing itself felt like a battle I no longer wanted to win.
There was no one to hear me. No one to hold me. Just me and the echo of everything we used to be.
I had broken up with the only man who ever made me feel this deeply—
Not because he cheated.
Not because he lied, ghosted me, or broke promises like others before him.
But because he killed someone.
Because the man I loved—Josh—was a murderer.
And worst of all, he didn't seem sorry.
I saw him take another human life like it was just… another task.
And I stood there, frozen, my soul screaming while his face remained calm. Still.
I searched for something in his eyes that night—guilt, regret, confusion, *anything*—
But there was nothing.
Just silence.
Just a cold blank stare that would haunt my nights and twist itself into my dreams.
How could I ever explain that to anyone?
That I had loved a man who showed no remorse…
That I had planned a future with someone capable of taking one away?
My chest ached with the weight of it all.
And as I lay there in the dark, I wondered if I'd ever be able to trust myself again—
To trust my own heart.
Because it had loved a killer, and it still missed him.
And that truth shattered me more than anything else.
---
*The next morning*
Sunlight streamed through the slats of the window, unaware of the storm that had raged inside me just hours before.
My body felt heavy, my eyes swollen and raw, my throat sore from the endless crying.
I didn't even know when sleep had come—if it could be called that.
Slowly, I sat up, the silence around me sharp and overwhelming.
Josh's scent still lingered faintly on the pillow beside me, but I refused to let it pull me back into yesterday's pain.
I forced myself out of bed.
The morning routine was automatic, almost robotic.
I showered, dressed, and tied my hair back, even though my hands trembled with exhaustion and grief.
Because if I stopped moving, if I gave in to the weight of it all, I knew I would shatter completely.
Downstairs, the kettle whistled sharply.
I poured hot water into a mug but left it untouched.
I wasn't hungry. I wasn't thirsty. I was just existing.
The house was eerily quiet, as if holding its breath with me, mourning with me.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed on the counter.
*1 New Message: Josh*
I froze. My heart skipped. Then sank.
I couldn't bring myself to open it—not yet.
Instead, I grabbed my bag, snatched my keys from the hook, and stepped outside.
The rain had stopped, but everything still felt soaked—drenched in the aftermath of last night's storm.
And me?
I was still trying to breathe.
---