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"At least pretend to care"
Prairie sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers clutching the sheets as if they were the only thing keeping her grounded. The room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlight filtering through the window. Her chest ached with the weight of the words she was about to speak, but she couldn’t hold them back any longer.
“I don’t know what’s happened to us,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You don’t even look at me anymore. I know I’ve changed—I know I’m not what I used to be. But can’t you at least pretend to care?”
Glenn stood by the window, his back to her, the light casting long shadows across his broad shoulders. He didn’t move, didn’t turn around to face her. For a moment, it seemed like he hadn’t even heard her. When he finally did respond, his voice was flat, almost detached.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he said, as if the words were nothing more than an inconvenience. He turned his head slightly, just enough for her to see the blankness in his eyes, the complete absence of any emotion. “You’re not making any sense.”
Prairie felt a fresh wave of tears rise up, her vision blurring as she stared at him, waiting for something—anything—that might show he still cared. But Glenn just stood there, looking at her like she was speaking in a language he didn’t understand. When he finally turned away, it was with a sigh, as though he was done with the whole thing, ready to move on and leave her behind in her pain.
He left the room without another word, the door clicking shut behind him. Prairie sat there, the silence pressing in around her, making the space feel smaller, more suffocating. She wiped at her tears, but they kept coming, her heart heavy with the knowledge that whatever they once had was slipping away, piece by piece.
In the days that followed, she began to notice a change in Glenn. It was subtle, almost imperceptible at first. He started coming home earlier, asking her if she needed anything when he never used to. He wasn’t warm—not really—but there was a softness to him that hadn’t been there before, a kind of hesitance that hadn’t existed before that night.
He would linger in the doorway a little longer, watching her with a quiet that was almost gentle. When she spoke, he’d actually listen, offering a nod or a murmured reply that, while distant, wasn’t entirely dismissive. One morning, he even brought her coffee, setting it down without a word. She noticed the way his hand paused for a moment, as if he was unsure whether to touch her or not.
Prairie should have felt relieved, maybe even hopeful. It was something, wasn’t it? But instead, all she felt was a cold, empty pit in her stomach. She knew this wasn’t love—not anymore. Glenn wasn’t coming back to her, not really. He was just playing a part, pretending to care because he couldn’t bear another scene like the one that had unfolded that night.
The kindness he showed her was a hollow thing, born not from love but from pity. And that was worse than the indifference he’d shown before. It was as if he was tolerating her, going through the motions just to keep the peace, to avoid another confrontation.
Prairie could see it clearly now—Glenn wasn’t really with her anymore. He was just sharing the same space, fulfilling some unspoken obligation while keeping his heart locked away. And that, she realized with a sinking feeling, was the saddest part of all. The love that had once bound them together had frayed beyond repair, leaving nothing but a pale imitation of what they had been.
In the end, it wasn’t the blank stare or the empty words that hurt the most. It was the realization that she had begged him to care, and what she got in return was a kindness so thin, so fragile, that it only served to highlight just how far they had fallen. Prairie was left with the bitter truth that whatever they had, whatever “us” had meant, was gone, replaced by a shadow that neither of them could bring themselves to let go of.
© reddragonfly
#FallingOutOfLove #LettingGo #GlennxPrairie
“I don’t know what’s happened to us,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You don’t even look at me anymore. I know I’ve changed—I know I’m not what I used to be. But can’t you at least pretend to care?”
Glenn stood by the window, his back to her, the light casting long shadows across his broad shoulders. He didn’t move, didn’t turn around to face her. For a moment, it seemed like he hadn’t even heard her. When he finally did respond, his voice was flat, almost detached.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he said, as if the words were nothing more than an inconvenience. He turned his head slightly, just enough for her to see the blankness in his eyes, the complete absence of any emotion. “You’re not making any sense.”
Prairie felt a fresh wave of tears rise up, her vision blurring as she stared at him, waiting for something—anything—that might show he still cared. But Glenn just stood there, looking at her like she was speaking in a language he didn’t understand. When he finally turned away, it was with a sigh, as though he was done with the whole thing, ready to move on and leave her behind in her pain.
He left the room without another word, the door clicking shut behind him. Prairie sat there, the silence pressing in around her, making the space feel smaller, more suffocating. She wiped at her tears, but they kept coming, her heart heavy with the knowledge that whatever they once had was slipping away, piece by piece.
In the days that followed, she began to notice a change in Glenn. It was subtle, almost imperceptible at first. He started coming home earlier, asking her if she needed anything when he never used to. He wasn’t warm—not really—but there was a softness to him that hadn’t been there before, a kind of hesitance that hadn’t existed before that night.
He would linger in the doorway a little longer, watching her with a quiet that was almost gentle. When she spoke, he’d actually listen, offering a nod or a murmured reply that, while distant, wasn’t entirely dismissive. One morning, he even brought her coffee, setting it down without a word. She noticed the way his hand paused for a moment, as if he was unsure whether to touch her or not.
Prairie should have felt relieved, maybe even hopeful. It was something, wasn’t it? But instead, all she felt was a cold, empty pit in her stomach. She knew this wasn’t love—not anymore. Glenn wasn’t coming back to her, not really. He was just playing a part, pretending to care because he couldn’t bear another scene like the one that had unfolded that night.
The kindness he showed her was a hollow thing, born not from love but from pity. And that was worse than the indifference he’d shown before. It was as if he was tolerating her, going through the motions just to keep the peace, to avoid another confrontation.
Prairie could see it clearly now—Glenn wasn’t really with her anymore. He was just sharing the same space, fulfilling some unspoken obligation while keeping his heart locked away. And that, she realized with a sinking feeling, was the saddest part of all. The love that had once bound them together had frayed beyond repair, leaving nothing but a pale imitation of what they had been.
In the end, it wasn’t the blank stare or the empty words that hurt the most. It was the realization that she had begged him to care, and what she got in return was a kindness so thin, so fragile, that it only served to highlight just how far they had fallen. Prairie was left with the bitter truth that whatever they had, whatever “us” had meant, was gone, replaced by a shadow that neither of them could bring themselves to let go of.
© reddragonfly
#FallingOutOfLove #LettingGo #GlennxPrairie
