The clinking of cutlery echoed long after Xander was gone.
Ava sat there, alone at the table, staring at the empty chair across from her. Her reflection trembled in the untouched wine glass, mascara streaking down her cheeks.
The waiter came by twice. Once to ask if she was done, and again to quietly set the bill down. She didn’t move.
When she finally stood, the room tilted. Her legs felt weak. The air outside was cool and biting, smelling of rain.
He didn’t come home that night.
His side of the bed remained untouched— the sheets were cold, pillow empty.
She lay awake till dawn, the silence— a loud noise in her head, her mind circling around his face at the restaurant— calm, almost gentle, before everything shattered.
By morning, she was running on fumes. She put on her suit like
