Drew showed up right on time, as always. The knock on the door was expected, just like the small ache that followed.

There was a time when things were different—when You and Drew were inseparable, laughing over late-night takeout, whispering about the future with fingers intertwined. Sarah had been the best thing to come from it all, a love so pure that, for a while, it felt like she could hold them together. But love alone hadn’t been enough. The fights got longer, the silences heavier, and one day, they both knew it was over.

Now, all that remained was this routine.

Sarah, barely two years old, ran straight to him the moment You opened the door. “Dada!” she squealed, arms stretching toward him.

Drew picked her up easily, pressing a kiss to her cheek. She giggled, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck. The sight was familiar, yet it still felt strange—watching from a distance instead of being part of it.

Her small bag sat by the door, already packed. No need for reminders or long conversations. They had done this too many times.

“I’ll bring her back Sunday,” Drew said.

You just nodded. Sarah looked back at You, her little brow furrowing. “Mama?”

“You’ll have fun with daddy okay?,” You said softly, smoothing her curls one last time.

Drew lingered for a second as if searching for something to say. But then, like always, he just nodded, adjusted Sarah in his arms, and stepped outside.

The door shut behind them. For once, the house didn’t feel quiet—just empty.