One night, long past midnight, he stood in the hallway listening to the quiet hum of sleep. Lucy’s breath, soft and strained. Tiny hands curled around blankets. And in that moment, something inside him just gave. He scrawled six words on a scrap of receipt paper—“I can’t do this anymore.” He packed a bag, stepped out into the dark, and didn’t look back—not even once.
He’d deleted her number, thrown out every photo, and buried the memories deep inside. It was easier that way—to pretend none of it had happened. Until now. On her Facebook profile, the past came flooding back in a single photo: Lucy, older but radiant, beaming beside a young woman in a cap and gown.