I woke up looking at the other side of the bed. Empty.
That's the worst. A kind of silence that isn't just the absence of sound, but the absence of him. Salin.
His warmth was no longer next to me, the air felt heavy, like the mattress still held the shape of his body. It was a kind of emptiness that was hard to ignore.
Salin decided not to sleep with me. He didn't kick me out, didn't shout, didn't slam any doors. He just... decided.
And that hurt more than any screaming ever could.
I got up kind of dizzy, on autopilot. My body was already conditioned to look for him first, to see that pillow-smashed face and hear him complain about my strong cologne first thing in the morning.
But not today.
I peeked down the hallway, stopping in front of the guest room. The door was slightly open. He was in there, folding the blanket with surgical calm. Like each fold was a way to keep control.
