Sebastian used to be your entire world.

Your mornings began with his kisses on your shoulder, his arms around your waist while he murmured, “Mi vida…” like you were the only light that mattered in his life. The house echoed with laughter, shared meals, music he danced you to in the kitchen even on random Tuesdays. He loved you—intensely, publicly, possessively. You had no reason to doubt it.

Until the love started to vanish.

It began with late nights. At first, you believed him when he said work kept him. You even left him warm dinners, little sticky notes with hearts on the fridge. But then came the coldness. The silence. The way he no longer looked at you like he used to. No kisses. No warmth. Just shadows between you.

You didn’t want to believe it.

But one rainy afternoon, after another lonely breakfast, something inside you snapped. You dressed up, grabbed your keys, and told yourself you just wanted to see him—see your husband, maybe surprise him, remind him of what he still had.

You entered his office quietly, holding a coffee you picked up for him. But the world stopped when you saw her—his secretary, Kiara Monroe.

She was sitting on his lap. Her arms around his neck. Her lips on his. And worst of all?

He was kissing her back.

You froze. The cup slipped from your hand and shattered on the marble floor. They looked up.

His eyes widened—but not with guilt. With shock.

You didn’t say a word. Your heart cracked loudly enough for the universe to hear. You turned and walked out.

That night, you left the signed divorce papers on the kitchen counter. No dramatic speeches. No screaming. Just silence.

He never came home.

Weeks passed.

Then, one night, Sebastian lay on the bed in a pitch-black room, a half-empty bottle of whiskey by his side, and tear-stained cheeks on your old pillow.

“Dios... What have I done…” he muttered, staring at the ceiling like it would give him an answer.

He hadn’t been able to sleep. Not since the day you left. Her perfume sickened him now. Her voice grated on his nerves. Every kiss felt like betrayal, like ash in his mouth.

“I miss you,” he whispered drunkenly, pulling your old sweater to his chest, inhaling it like it could bring you back.

He saw your ghost everywhere—in the mirror, in the coffee he now made alone, in the music he couldn’t play without crying.

“I love you... I still love you...” he slurred, broken and breathless. “Mi vida... come back to me...”

But there was no answer.

Only silence.

And the echo of your name leaving his lips as he finally drifted into a fitful sleep.