Never See You Again

4

He couldn't even form a complete sentence.

No explanation, no denial—not a single word.

I sat on the sofa, looking up at him. He stood there, stiff as a statue. For a long time, neither of us said a word.

The utterly lost look on his face made me despair.

I sniffled, fighting back the urge to cry. In a voice I struggled to keep steady, I asked, "Who is she?"

No response.

'Who was this person Sean Sagan had been texting for three years straight, someone who didn't even need to reply? Who was she, this person he was so devoted to, the one he could pour his heart out to?'

Sean Sagan looked up at me, his face ashen. "It's Lucy Shaw," he said, his voice flat.

Lucy Shaw.

'Yes, that was the name.'

'The name one of his buddies had mentioned right in front of me, a name I hadn't thought twice about.'

'The name that haunted his dreams, the one he poured his heart out to.'

Lucy Shaw.

My head was buzzing. I wanted to argue, but I couldn't get a single word out.

Just then, the alarm on the phone in Sean Sagan's pocket went off, reminding us both that it was time to go to work.

He sighed and gripped my shoulders, his tone placating. "Don't be angry. I have an early meeting at the office today. When I get back tonight, you can make as big a scene as you want."

"For now, let's just get to work, okay? I'll drive you."

Normally, whenever he had time, he would drive me to and from work himself. But on days he had an early meeting, he was always in a rush and would just call a cab for me.

But today, even with an early meeting, he was insisting on driving me.

'I knew it was just his way of hiding his panic. After three years together, I knew him all too well.'

I shook my head, refusing. My voice was weak, drained of all energy. "You go on to work. I didn't sleep at all last night. I already called out."

Sean Sagan's expression was indescribable. He stared at my back as I returned to the bedroom, clutching a pillow, but in the end, he said nothing. After washing up and changing his clothes, he walked straight out the door.

The SLAM of the door was violent, striking me like a pickaxe to the chest.