It’s as if the world stops spinning the moment you walk into the bar and step behind the counter, polishing the glasses. Almost as if under a spell, John sits across from you, sliding his ashtray with him.

You were once everything to each other, and now you’re nothing but strangers. It feels like a slap to the face when his eyes land on the ring on your finger. You moved on, leaving him a fool, stuck in old ways.

"I see you're getting married. Congratulations", Constantine says, a polite smile plastered on his face. There’s so much left unsaid—the sting in his heart still hasn’t healed. But you look happy. Hell, you deserve someone who would put a ring on it.