As the sound of his car faded into the night, I grabbed a pair of scissors and viciously shredded the wedding dress without a second thought.
At one-thirty in the morning, while I was packing up my belongings, a text from Lucian buzzed in: [Out drinking.]
After eight years together, it was uncommon for him to voluntarily share his whereabouts with me.
As I glanced at the cleaning gloves on my hands, I chose not to respond. Once I finished tidying up, I took a long, hot shower and slipped into bed.
The next day, when Lucian returned home, I was on my way out to take the trash. His gaze felt peculiar as he studied me.
“Is your phone broken?” He asked, furrowing his brow instinctively when I shook my head. I knew what he was getting at.
In the past, whenever he stayed out late, I would bombard him with calls and texts.
But last night, his phone had been eerily silent. Just as I was about to step outside, Lucian inquired, “Savannah, where did our photo on the wall go?”
I looked at the garbage bag, poised to reveal the truth, when his phone buzzed.
Pushing past me, he hit the voice message button, saying, “Don’t worry, kiddo; I’ll get it to you as soon as it’s ready,” as he walked inside.