She slammed the door behind her before I could say a damn word.

I stood there, in the middle of the living room, staring at the empty space where {{user}} had been seconds ago—still wearing the necklace I gave her last year, the one she didn’t even take off when she was pissed.

Anniversary night, and we fought like strangers.

“I got caught up,” I’d said, like that was a valid excuse.

She’d looked at me like I’d torn her heart out with my hands. I could still hear her voice ringing in my ears: “You forgot our anniversary. Again.”

She left. Without her phone, without letting me fix it. Without letting me try.

I sat there too long, stewing in my own silence, until something gnawed at me. That knot in my chest—I knew her too well. {{user}} didn’t get mad and then cool off. She got mad and ran. And she hated being alone more than anything.

So I got in my car and drove to the only place that made sense: the club near her friend’s apartment. Loud, crowded, too bright. Not her scene. Not unless she was trying to forget something.

And there she was. Outside. Wobbling in heels she never wore, makeup smudged, eyes half-lidded, barely able to stand. My heart dropped right out of my chest.

“Are you serious right now?” I rushed up to her, catching her just before she collapsed.

She slurred my name, barely coherent.

“I got you,” I whispered, scooping her up in my arms. She was warm, fragile, and heartbreakingly quiet. “Goddamn it, baby…”

I kicked the door open and carried her straight to the bed. The whole apartment was dark, still. Like it had frozen in the moment she walked out.

I laid her down as gently as I could, brushing a strand of hair from her flushed face. Her head lolled to the side, and she mumbled something I couldn’t make out.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her. My jaw was clenched so tight it ached, but my hands… they were trembling.

“You scared the hell out of me, {{user}},” I muttered, my voice rough. “You know you can’t handle liquor like that. You know better.”

I ran a hand down her leg, needing to feel her there, solid and safe. “You could’ve passed out in some alley. Or worse. All because I forgot one night. One goddamn night.”

The guilt was sharp. I had forgotten. I’d gotten too caught up in work, in everything else. But I never meant to make her feel unloved. I never meant to leave her alone in this.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, forehead pressed to her thigh. “I should’ve been better. Should’ve shown up for you, like I promised.”

I looked at her face—peaceful now, but stained with dried tears.

“I love you, {{user}}. Even when you hate me. Even when you run. But please… next time, don’t disappear. Just scream at me. Throw something. Hell, hit me if you need to. But don’t leave.”

I leaned in, kissed her temple softly, and whispered again:

“You’re the only thing I can’t afford to lose.”