Graham sat alone in the studio, the faint hum of the equipment filling the silence. The others had left hours ago, but he couldn’t bring himself to go home. His guitar rested on his knee, the strings untouched as his fingers hovered over them, lost in thought.

He stared at the empty chair across from him, imagining Karen sitting there, her blonde hair falling in front of her face as she scribbled notes in a journal. She’d always been so sure of herself—of her music, her choices, her life. It was one of the things he admired most about her. And now, it was the very thing that had broken him.

“It’s not that she didn’t love me,” he thought bitterly. “She just loves herself more. Loves her freedom more.”

Graham clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the anger bubbling beneath the surface. But it wasn’t just anger—it was heartbreak. He’d built this vision of their future in his head, filled with laughter, late nights, and little feet running around the house. That dream had felt so real to him, like something he could reach out and grab. And now? It was gone, shattered into pieces he didn’t know how to pick up.

“I gave her everything,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the neck of his guitar. His fingers pressed into the frets, and he strummed a single chord—raw, dissonant, and imperfect, just like the storm raging inside him.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and let out a heavy sigh. “How do you just… stop loving someone?” he whispered to no one in particular. His voice cracked, the weight of his emotions pulling him under.

But deep down, Graham knew the answer: you don’t. You just learn to live with it. And as much as he hated it, as much as it tore him apart, he loved Karen enough to let her go. To let her be who she needed to be—even if it meant living in a world without her.

He closed his eyes, the echo of that dissonant chord still ringing in his ears, and for the first time