ist

nd Collin' s cruel laughter. When morning finally arrived, it offered no solace. My eyes fel

hrough something, a faint smile playing on his lips. His morning routine hadn't cha

asked, my voice raspy. I didn't care, n

ome online shopping. Jaime me

online, even added to my own wish list a few months ago. He used my account, somet

ed it down. That Calista, the one who cared about frivo

" I said, my

a bit picky, but I think she'll like it. It's trendy, new. Not like some of the... c

t "too avant-garde." But he'd meticulously searched for a painting of a pink sunset for Jaime, something gaudy and saccharine, just because she'd once mentioned she liked the co

," I said, my

over to me, and gave me a perfunctory

ingtone. He immediately picked up, his face softening, a genuine wa

. He moved away, stepping onto the small hotel balcony, h

trong. I preferred tea, my stomach unable to handle the bitterness. An old allerg

wning. "No coffee? What

ded him, my voice devoid of patience. "

Right." A moment of silence, a flicker of something unreadable in

to the perfect temperature. He'd even researched my allergies, making a list of foods to avoid, a concerned frown always on his fa

to me. "I'm sorry, Calista. I... sometimes I forget.

me. He glanced at the screen, then back at me, that flicke

. "Jaime needs me." With that, he was out the door. Th

rey city. The loneliness was no longer a shar

my phone. Collin. "Out w

arriage, before his late nights became the norm, before my pleas turned into silence. The last time he'd active

y. There was

mall, elegant urn, cool and smooth beneath my fingers. A wave of profound grief washed over me, a physical weight pressing down on my chest. I ha

erupted in light. Fireworks. A burst of color a

lin. He was holding a remote control, looking up at the sky. Above them, drones painted a giant,

! Collin is the best husband ever! So lucky t

y. It was our anniversary, our wedd

aption: "To my one and only." He had pinned it to the top of his

e, you deserve this!" "Calista could never."

soaking his dirty socks when he was too tired. He had a meticulous obsession with cleanliness, a phobia of dirt. Yet, in Jaime's photo, he was laughing, his hands covered in pain

r belly. It wasn't the kind of pain I nor

words. The world spun. When I opened them again, I saw a familiar fa

!" she cried,

ng pain erupted on my cheek. A sha