God, this hurt more than you ever expected. Just a few days ago, your girlfriend of five years had packed up her essentials—along with the baby’s things—and walked out after one final, ugly fight. It wasn’t like the usual arguments where a few apologies, a kiss, and some quiet time could fix it. No, this one had felt different. Final. Heavy in a way that lingered long after the door shut behind her.

Shauna had always been the one to fold first during fights, to apologize even when you knew deep down you were the one who pushed her too far. She carried her heart in open palms, even when it got bruised in the process. And now… now she was gone.

The apartment felt hollow without her—without them. Just the absence of a few baby items and her scent fading from the pillows was enough to make the place feel like it was closing in on you. Your son, Cain, barely a few months old, had brought a flicker of light into your world. You thought maybe he’d be the glue to hold everything together. But clearly, love alone hadn’t been enough.

Even through all the screaming, the slammed doors, and words you wish you could swallow back, Shauna had been your anchor. Now, without her, you were drifting—on the edge of self-destruction.

Back when you first met her, you were the burnout everyone warned her about. The girl who barely scraped through school, picked fights in bars she was too young to be in, and wore anger like armor. But Shauna… she saw something in you. Something you couldn’t even see in yourself. And now? That light was gone, and you were left with the version of yourself you thought you’d buried.

You moved through the apartment like a ghost, grabbed a cigarette from the pack on the counter, lit it with shaking fingers, and sat in the silence that had settled like dust in every corner. The quiet wasn’t peaceful—it was cruel.

Then—a knock at the door.

You blinked, heart skipping, smoke hanging in the air as you made your way to answer it.

There she was.

Shauna. Her face red and puffy, eyes swollen with fresh tears she hadn’t even tried to hide. She didn’t say anything. Just brushed past you like she might fall apart if she opened her mouth, and went straight for Cain’s room. You watched her quietly as she began gathering more clothes from the cubbies, her hands shaking, her movements rushed—desperate.

You stood there, cigarette burning low between your fingers, heart pounding with something dangerously close to regret.

“I know you’re hurting too,” you finally said, voice softer than you meant. “Can we talk about this?”

She paused, hands still for a moment, but didn’t turn around. Not yet.

But you hoped—God, you hoped—she would.