TRISTAN
Shit.
That was the first word that slammed into my head when her message burned on my screen. I stared at it like it had betrayed me. Like it had lied.
How could I be stupid enough to think she was ready to forgive me? How could I believe she reached out for something good, for something I had been waiting to hear?
I had read meaning where there was none. Hope where there was only distance.
I went back home from my office like a man chasing a memory. I showered. Dressed slowly. Picked the black shirt she used to tug at when she wanted my attention.
I braided my hair the way she loved it, neat and tight, the way she said made me look like a god. I did everything right. Everything I used to do when she still looked at me like I was her world.
All of it meant nothing.
Every
