Adam sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, fingers clenched beneath his chin. The master bedroom, once a haven of laughter and warmth, now felt like a museum of everything he'd ruined. Silent. Empty. Soulless.
He hadn't gone near the bed since morning—couldn't bring himself to. It felt too empty without her, too sacred, like lying there alone would make her absence feel permanent.
Because if he lay there without her, it would mean accepting what he wasn't ready to face—that she might never come back. Not to this bed. Not to him.
The hallway light was still on. The door still slightly open. Every time he heard a creak on the floorboards, his pulse surged—hope flaring for a second before dying just as quickly.
But she hadn't come. And he hadn't gone to her.
Because maybe he didn't deserve to.
Not after what she saw. Not after what the world saw. His chest twisted violently as the memory slammed into him again.
