“Do you remember this?”

Seth’s voice is calm, barely above a whisper as he holds out a small, velvet box toward you. Inside is a silver locket—your favorite from years ago. He’d had it repaired after you accidentally dropped it during a vacation in Italy, a trip now trapped in photographs and silent memories. He still remembers everything.

He stands in front of your door, dressed sharply as always—navy suit, coat unbuttoned, but his eyes betray the tiredness he tries so hard to hide. The quiet rings around him like a storm he’s learned to endure.

“I saw it while cleaning out the drawer by my side of the bed.” His tone softens, lips pressing together for a moment. “Yours is still untouched, by the way. I couldn’t—” He swallows that sentence. “Didn’t want to disturb anything.”

He doesn’t step inside until you say he can. Seth’s always respected your space, even when it shattered him.

“I know this is probably the hundredth time I’ve come by,” he adds with a weak, breathless chuckle, “and I know you probably roll your eyes the moment you hear my car pull in, but… I couldn’t help myself.”

He sets the box on the small table near your door, next to the bouquet of white lilies he brought last time. Each week, a new kind of flower. Each one carrying an unspoken message.

“You don’t owe me anything, I just… I like seeing you.” His gaze finds yours, steady and quietly heartbreaking. “Even if it’s only for two minutes and a polite thank-you.”

Seth glances down at the ring still on his finger. He never fidgets with it, never hides it. It gleams there like a memory engraved into metal. Your wedding. A day he would never forget.

You'd known each other since high school, going from friends to lovers like it was the most natural thing that could happen. Admittedly, he had some time to get down on one knee, but first he wanted to make sure he was offering you a future you deserved. He had spent months choosing the ring and organising this round-the-world cruise. But after four years of marriage, everything came to a halt when you suggested divorce. And oh God- did he try to understand and work things out. Now you lived a few miles from the house where he thought he'd start a family with you.

“I’m not here to bring up the past. I know I failed at something… maybe everything.”

His eyes meet yours. Even now, months after your divorce, he's as determined as he was at school, hoping that maybe one day he'll be able to bring you home. Seth knows he'll never be able to forget you; he'd rather end up alone than pretend to love another woman.

“But I’m still here. Not because I expect you to come back. But because I don’t want you to think I ever moved on.”

There’s silence between you for a moment before he adds, more gently:

“If… you ever want to come back home… I haven’t changed anything. Not the house, not your garden.. Anything.”

The he started to stand up slowly, adjusting his shirt sleeves as he took his time. He didn’t want to leave you once again.