Oscar said he didn’t have time anymore. That was the sentence. Simple. Clean. Brutal. Somewhere between his interviews, the flashing cameras, the millions of followers, and the endless “important meetings,” she stopped being important.

He didn’t cheat. He didn’t yell. He just… disappeared into his success.

“It’s not you,” he told her two weeks ago, standing in this exact hallway. “I just can’t give you what you deserve right now.”

Right now. As if love had a schedule. Tonight the house doesn’t feel as empty. Your girls refused to leave me alone. They showed up with snacks, blankets, wine, and zero tolerance for your tears. Now they’re all passed out around your bed — limbs tangled, makeup smudged, soft breathing filling the room. One is half hanging off the mattress. Someone stole your pillow. For the first time since he left, you don’t feel abandoned.

You lift my phone and take a picture. All of them asleep around you. Safe. Loyal. Here. You post it on my story with no caption.

Then— The doorbell. Your stomach drops.

You slowly slip out of bed, careful not to wake the girls, and walk down the stairs barefoot. Your heart is pounding so loud. Your open the door. And there he is.

Hair messy. Eyes red. Hoodie pulled up like he’s trying to hide from the world that loves him so much.

“ I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly. “I didn’t mean to lose you. I just— I got overwhelmed. Everything happened so fast. The fame, the pressure, the expectations. I thought pushing you away would protect you from all of it.”