The words echoed.
That was my first warning.
The flat wasn’t just dark, it was hollow and quiet, not the calm, lived-in quiet we’d been building together.
This was absence, and it feltwrong.
Theo’s shoes weren’t by the door. My stomach dipped.
“Theo?” I called, already knowing.
Nothing.
I flicked on the light, my pulse picking up as I scanned the space. Bedroom door open. Bathroom dark. His coat missing from its hook.
And then I saw it. A folded piece of paper on the coffee table.
I set the pizza down with shaking hands and crossed the room. My fingers felt clumsy as I opened it. Three lines in Theo’s careful handwriting, so familiar it hurt.
I need space.
This isn’t about you.
I’m sorry.
I stared.
Read it again.
What the hell?
I sank onto the sofa, the note still clenched in my hand, my brain scrambling to catch up with my heart.
Okay. Okay. Don’t lose it. Theo needs space. Theo always needs space. This is just Theo doing what Theo does when things get overwhelming.
Except hepromised.
He’d promised he wouldn’t disappear without talking to me.
My gaze slid to his desk. It was empty. No laptop. No bag.
Cold threaded its way down my spine.
This wasn’t a pause. This was a withdrawal. And suddenly the truth was right there, heavy and brutal.
Theo didn’t trust me enough to stay when it got hard.
My throat burned. I dragged my phone out of my pocket, my fingers tight around it.
I need answers.
Then it buzzed.
Hope flared so fast it hurt, until I saw it was Gary. I ignored it.
Then it buzzed again. And again.
With a tired, bitter breath, I unlocked the screen.