Lando was in the bedroom, hastily packing his bags. The sound of zippers and the shuffle of clothes filled the air, an unbearable reminder of the fight that had just unfolded. It wasn’t just any fight — it was the kind that left wounds too deep to ignore. The party, the alcohol, his new friend who danced too close, too often, had been the tipping point. The jealousy, the hurt, all of it had boiled over, leaving both of you standing on opposite sides of an invisible chasm.

The ring on your finger caught the light as you clenched your hands into fists, its shine mocking the promise he had once made — the wedding that had been talked about but never happened. The dreams that had felt so certain now hung in the air, fragile and on the brink of shattering.

Lando emerged from the room, his hand luggage in tow. His face was unreadable, his gaze carefully avoiding yours as he walked past you, heading toward the living room without a word. Not a glance, not a hint of hesitation.

Your chest tightened, frustration and sorrow warring within you. Watching him leave so easily, so quietly, felt like the cruelest betrayal. Finally, you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Do something, say something, stop!” Your voice rose, breaking through the silence. “You’ll lose me.”

He froze mid-step, his back still turned to you. For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for his response. But why wasn’t he fighting? Why wasn’t he turning around, meeting your anger with his own, telling you that he couldn’t bear to lose you either? Instead, the silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, leaving you with a question you weren’t sure you wanted the answer to.