I woke up to silence, not the kind that feels peaceful. The kind that crawls under your skin and whispers he’s not here. No footsteps on the stairs, no coffee brewing. Not even the sound of water running in the bathroom. Just the steady tick of the wall clock and the hollow echo of an empty apartment.
I rolled over, hoping, stupidly, that maybe he was just on the balcony. Or in the shower. Or... anywhere here. But the sheets were cold. His side of the bed looked untouched, like he’d never even come back. A knot formed in my chest as I grabbed my phone from the nightstand.
No missed calls, no texts. Just the same wallpaper and the mocking emptiness of a notification bar that said you’re not worth checking in on. Not even a half-assed emoji. No "sorry about last night." No "I had to go early." Just silence. I stared at the ceiling for a full minute before I sat up, the blanket twisted around my legs like the aftermath of a restless night. My heart was heavy. Not broken, but bruised. Like it had been punched in the same spot too many times and now flinched at every little thing.
I took my time getting dressed, brushed my hair slower, and picked an outfit I didn’t even like. Spent ten extra minutes on my makeup, not to impress anyone, but to build a mask. Because today, I needed armor. I needed to look like I gave a damn about me, even if he didn't. The office felt like a snow globe someone shook and forgot to set down.
People moved, phones rang, laughter echoed down the hallway, but none of it touched me. I sat through meetings I couldn’t focus on, answered emails I didn’t remember typing. Drank two cups of coffee that tasted like burnt hope, and then I saw him. Ives.
Talking to a board member like nothing happened. Suit crisp, hair perfect, and that cool, unreadable expression he wore like it was stitched into his skin. He didn’t look at me, he didn’t pause. Didn’t see me, he just walked right past me, like I was a smudge on a window. Like last night never happened. Like I wasn’t the same girl he kissed in the dark like he’d fall apart if he didn’t.
I froze. The hallway around me blurred as people brushed past, their conversations loud and pointless. I just stood there, holding a file I couldn’t remember picking up, watching the man who made me feel seen just yesterday… erase me. You know how they say heartbreak isn’t loud? They're wrong. It screams, quietly. In the space where his eyes should’ve met yours. In the absence of a nod. In the cruel, exact silence between two people pretending they were never anything.
By lunch, I was just trying to breathe. Dana cornered me in the break room, already peeling open her sandwich. “You look like hell,” she said casually, sipping her juice.
“Thanks,” I muttered, poking at my iced coffee with the straw. “Exactly the look I was going for.”
She gave me a side glance. “Still no word from Mr. CEO?” I didn’t answer. Just shrugged like it didn’t matter.
“Girl,” Dana sighed. “Talk to me. Or at least eat something before you pass out.” I was about to mumble another excuse when my phone buzzed.
“Marla. It’s your grandma. Emergency. Call now.”
My vision tunneled, I didn’t think. I just ran. I don’t remember the drive. I must’ve hit every red light on the way. My hands gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping me grounded, knuckles white, heart racing. I called Ives, but it was voicemail.
“Please pick up,” I whispered. “Please, just answer.” I called again. Nothing.
“Ives, it’s me. It’s my grandma. They rushed her to the ER. I-” My voice cracked. “Just call me back. Please.” Still no reply.
The city blurred outside the windshield. My stomach twisted with every block I crossed. I didn’t even park properly, I just left the car crooked near the curb and bolted inside the hospital. The nurse incharge of my Grandma was already in the lobby, pacing, her eyes red and full of panic.
“They brought her in fifteen minutes ago,” she said quickly. “She’s in the ER now. They’re… they’re trying to stabilize her.”
I nodded, but I wasn’t really there. I was floating above myself, somewhere between memory and panic. They let me stand behind the glass. I could see her, my grandmother. Pale. Still. Surrounded by machines and wires and strangers in scrubs. My mouth went dry. I pressed a shaking hand to the window.
That woman raised me, held my hand when I was six and convinced monsters lived in my closet. Brought me soup every time I got sick in college. Told me I was enough, even when the whole world made me feel like I wasn't. Now she was lying there like life was trying to steal her piece by piece. The monitor beeped steadily. Beep. Beep. Beep… Then slower. Then softer.
I started whispering her name under my breath, like maybe she could hear it through the glass. Like maybe she’d open her eyes and smile and tell me it was just a bad dream. I glanced toward the ER doors. He’ll come. He has to come. He kissed me like I was the only thing he needed. He said he didn’t want to lose me. But the doors stayed shut. No footsteps, no Ives, just me, alone. Watching the strongest woman I knew fade, while the man I stupidly wanted more than I should’ve was nowhere to be found. I didn’t cry, not yet. But God, it hurt like I did.