I hear the door open, breaking the silence in the hotel. I don't move or turn to acknowledge his presence, remaining seated in the spacious living room, with a wine glass in my grasp. His distinct smell washes over me—woody and expensive. His footsteps follow moments after, edging closer. I feel his presence when he enters the room, and I hear his calm breaths, but he says nothing. Like he doesn't care to be here. With me.
"Are you gonna just stand there?" He shakes his head and silently moves to sit on the coffee table in front of me.
"So, what did she say?" He asks, gazing around at the light tones, marble floors and full-length glass windows encompassing us.
"So you know whom I'm talking about, it doesn't matter what she said. I want to hear what you have to say."
He glances at me. "Yeah, I know," he sighs, “I met her a few months ago. We've been talking. We went on a date, and we kissed…"
"Wow," I gasp. When is it okay to cheat on your wife?
"I know we've been on the rocks for months, but this Luke is on a whole new level. Is that what we're doing now?"
He ignores me, staring mutely over my shoulder. How can he have nothing to say? Not even to try to apologise—or even justify himself. Nothing.
"Cheating is not something our relationship has ever included, and I don't plan to start now… I honestly thought we were better than that. I know you are grieving which is why you've been acting the way you have been but you've got to face it and deal with it because it will destroy us if you don't. That is why I snapped out of it and I am keeping my head above water because I don't want to lose you, Luke. Or myself. You need to stop pushing me away because you might succeed and I don't want to give up on us. Ever. Okay?"
He stares at me coldly. Does he not care anymore? Is that where we are now?
"Cat got your tongue? Fucking say something!" I shout, throwing my wine glass in his direction, at the wall behind him. No response. No flinch. And the fear inside me still bubbles as anger consumes me. My eyebrows fold as I stare concentratedly at the mess I made—a dark stain in its wake with dark red drops dripping down the wall. The fumes tangle in the air.
"Maybe you should," he finally says.
"What?"
"We haven't been okay for months and I think it's time we put an end to this," He waves his arms between us. He wants to end things with me?
"You don't mean that."
"Yes, I do. I want a divorce."
"No." I say. How dare he be the one to ask for a divorce? The cheek of this bastard. I know I acted terribly before—but I was struggling goddamn it! I didn't let it pull me under for this long.
"You can keep the house and have half my money," he says.
"Your money?" I say. It's always been our money. "I don't care about the fucking house or your money. You know I don't. I can sleep on the fucking streets for all I care. I just want my husband back! My best friend," I add, whispering the last bit, barely audible, not sure he heard.
Something pulls at me. I stand up and move toward him.
I grab his face, attempting to get his full attention, directing his face to me—In hope that my next words will have some moderate effect.
"If it's because of all the horrible things I said to you. I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything I said." My voice cracks as I feel wetness forming under my eyes. "Please don't give up on us."
"I don't want you, Laura, and I haven't in a while. Can't you see that?" Luke harshly says, pulling my hands off his face and gently pushes me back.
My voice breaks. "No, you don't get to say that, Luke. I was hesitant to marry you because I was scared that things would come to this. I didn't want to lose you, and you promised I won't. So, no, you don't get to do this. You hear me."
"You don't," I say, wiping away tears that are raining down hard now. I can't stop them as my heart aches so badly—it's a physical thing. I move closer but he moves away from the coffee table like I'm a contagious disease. Like I'm the pandemic.
“Am in this fight. Are you with me?” I sniffle, glancing up at him.
"I don't want you, Laura. I don't love you, not like that, maybe I never did and mistook that what we had was real love, but it's not."
I pause.
He doesn't love me? Never has? Bullshit. It has to be right? It was never just me—how can I believe that—when our history disputes that. I honestly don't know anymore. I'll love him—always will. I thought it was the same for him.
Fuck it. I don't need him. Right? I'll be fine without him.
"Okay, fucking get out then," I say, and he nods and walks away without a glance back. I hear the door shut, informing me that I'm now alone. I wanted him to fight, not walk away.
Bitterness fills me fiercely as I leave the living area and walk towards the bar, opening a cupboard, reaching for another wine glass and pouring another glass.
I slide down the bar with the rough edges digging into my back, sipping my wine.
Tears escape me in ugly sobs. So this is it—the end of us. I almost can't believe it. I can't accept it. I can't even fathom a world where he's not in it and that's what he wants. I started this year happy as ever, and now I have nothing.
It's a war in my head—telling myself that I should leave it and let him realise what he lost. So he can hurt. But what if he doesn't?
He doesn't love me—he said.
Never did—he said.
He doesn't want me.
He said.
I'm angry—fucking livid that he is taking things this far. I know he's hurting—has been hurting, but ain't I? How can he cheat on me? Like we mean nothing. Like I mean nothing. And now he's willing to give up everything. Give up, me. Do I not matter to him anymore? I know I'm not the girl he fell in love with—If he ever did—calm and lively with a streak for thrill. Brave.
I sip my wine but then throw it and watch it shatter. Then, I hurriedly grab my phone, dialling his number, and it goes straight to voicemail, so I try again, but this time I leave a message.

"Luke, please answer the phone. I can't leave our conversation like that. I can't. Forever you said. Please don't give up on us. I know you still love me." I sniff and rub my eyes "I just know. You said you never loved me, but I don't believe that for a second." my voice cracks. "I don't. How can I? Not when we have a history to dispute that," I breathe and wipe my tears. "I'm going to our house now, and we will talk. We will get through this because that's what we do. We get through things together. We've been doing things wrong lately, and I'm to blame for that. I shouldn't have pushed you away. I should have worked for us to deal with this together because that's when we are at our strongest. I refuse to believe that we can't get through this. I refuse. Come home to me, and let's sort this out. Together. Please."

I grab my small Gucci bag and leave, shutting the door. I bypass the lifts and run down the stairs, winded when I reach the bottom, but I don't let that stop me. I don't check out. I run straight through the sliding doors into the dark, locating my car.
I reach for my range rover, open the door and get inside behind the driver's seat.
Thoughts run through my head as I drive down an intersection. I hope he comes home. If he does—I'll take that as a sign that we will be fine. My eyes are stinging, with water sitting on the edge of my rims. I stop at a red light, taking one hand off the wheel to wipe my fingers under my eyes.
The lights change to green, and I press my feet back on the pedal, driving along.


An earth-shattering slam.
Excruciating pain
A loud crashing sound, piercing my ears.
Shrieking metal against metal.
My head turbulently smacks back.
Bang, bang and bang—my head—on the steering wheel and—



My gaze shifts around, barely moving my head. I lift my hand to my head. Blood? Broken windshield. Pieces of glass on my body. An intoxicating smell. I can barely focus—excruciating pain whithers throughout my entire body—along with terror. It feels like I was hit—with a brick?
I try to lift my head. I cannot. I try to move, weakly pulling at the seat belt to get out but—impossible—I'm pinned inside.
"Hey, can you hear me? You're going to be okay."
I stall my attempts at pulling and try to turn my head. A comforting grip lays on my hand. The pain is overwhelming with panic coursing. I'd give anything to hear his voice right now—comforting me. I need him. I'm scared.
"I can't… move," I croak out weakly.
"Help is coming."


I'm enervated.
I pull open my eyelids.
They flutter close.
I try again, but they're sealed shut.
The woman's soft voice remains speaking to me—sirens in the background. You only need to hold on for a bit longer until help gets here.


I'm on a stretcher. I gaze around through drooping eyes. People standing around. Worried expressions. I'm going to die—I can feel it. I can't breathe, and the pain is unbearable—it's pulling me under, and I want to succumb.


This is it. I cannot fight it anymore. My mum. I don't want to put her through losing a child. You have to hold on. I try to open my eyes, but I'm incapable. With all the force in the world—I can't.
Voices float over me, and movements rustle around me.


My friends. Natalia. My family. Hold on, For them.


I see him. I hear him. I feel and smell him
He is not here, but his words encapture and rapture me. Memories.
"Best friend," he whispered.
“I’m so in love with you, Lau. Forever," he panted.
"I must be crazy too," he uttered.
“Are you with me?” he asked.
"You don't have to be scared. I got you. I won't ever let anything happen to you," he promised.
Luke
The love of my life.
My eyes open.
Maybe I did push my feelings onto him—when I think about it.
I kissed him first.
I convinced him to be with me.
Then, convinced again.
Eventually, I proposed to him.
It was always me.
So it is plausible.
Maybe he never was in love with me.
Water fills the corner of my eyes.
But
If I could do it all again—with him—I would not change a thing.

The pain gets worse, thrumming through me, stealing my thoughts and oxygen. Consciousness escapes me, enveloping me in darkness.