After that intimate moment, Dave went into the bathroom. I lay in bed, speaking through the glass door. “Dave, Mrs. Robinson visited me today.”
His voice, muffled by the sound of running water, replied, “What did you say?”
Suddenly, my phone buzzed non-stop. I turned over, my back aching, and picked it up.
A cheerful female voice asked, “Dave, should we go with gold-stamped or solid-colored wedding invitations?”
It felt like my world was collapsing. So Mrs. Robinson had been right—Dave was getting married.
Then what was I?
When Dave emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, I remained frozen in shock. He approached me and gently massaged my neck, sensing that something was wrong. “What’s wrong? You look upset.”
I pushed him away lightly, trying to mask my emotions. “Your fiancée called. She wants to know if you prefer gold-stamped or solid-colored invitations.”
Without a second thought, Dave dropped the towel, quickly dressed in an elegant suit, and hurried out the door. No explanation, no hesitation—just gone.
That night, I cleaned myself up and lay in bed, waiting for his call. Morning came, and still, there was nothing.