I didn’t move. I didn’t even flinch. Instead, I walked past him, heading straight for the photos—the memories I had once cherished—scattered across the room. I collected them, one by one, until they were all in a box. Pictures of me and Eros, of the life I thought we had. And then, I took the box outside.
I set it on fire.
The flames flickered, licking at the edges of the memories I had tried to hold on to. I felt a strange sense of relief as the paper curled and blackened. The life I thought I had was gone, burned to ashes.
Eros came outside, his voice sharp. “What are you doing? Are you deaf? I told you to cook something.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. His words didn’t matter anymore. Nothing he said could reach me.
“There’s food in the fridge,” I said, my voice cold and empty. “You can eat it yourself.”
As the flames grew higher, I thought about how much I hated this house now. The walls, the furniture—it all reeked of Daisy. The scent of her filled every corner, and it made my stomach turn. This house doesn’t belong to me anymore.
I set a timer. Tomorrow, when I was already gone, when I was far away, this house would burn to the ground. A fitting end for everything it had represented.