Roy left Dianne’s doorstep with a hollow ache in his chest, each step heavier than the last.
He didn’t drive home—he dragged himself there, soaked, shivering, and emotionally drained.
The moment he entered his bedroom, everything inside him snapped.
He slammed the door, kicked off his wet shoes, grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the shelf, and downed it like water. The burn barely registered. He poured another. And another. The numbness helped. The silence didn’t.
He tried calling her.
Once. Twice. Ten times.
No answer.
He stared at his screen, eyes bloodshot. “Dianne… please…” he whispered into the empty room, but the phone kept ringing and ringing without end.
He sent messages.
Voicemails.
Everything he could think of.
But nothing came back.
He slid down the wall, the room spi
