I didn’t know how long they stayed tangled in my sheets, desecrating the last remnants of what I had believed was love. But eventually, Maureen left, and I turned to go, my steps heavy with the weight of finality.
The door creaked open behind me.
Harland stepped into the hallway, his expression as indifferent as ever. As if I were nothing more than an inconvenience.
“You’re here.” His tone was flat, almost bored. “I’m hungry. Go make me something.”
Something inside me snapped.
I didn’t move. I didn’t blink.
Without a word, I walked past him, gathering the framed photos that lined the shelves. Pictures of us. Memories I had once cherished. One by one, I collected them into a box.
Then, I took them outside.
The fire caught easily. Flames curled around the edges of the photographs, devouring the love I had once clung to. I watched as our past turned to ash, as every illusion I had built was reduced to nothing.
Harland stormed out, eyes narrowing. “What the hell are you doing?” His voice was sharp, commanding. “Are you deaf? I told you to cook.”
I didn’t even glance at him. His words meant nothing anymore. His voice no longer had the power to wound me.