I’d never once posted about him on social media, not a single photo or mention that would show he already had someone in his life. Apart from a few close friends who knew about us, most people probably thought I was just his sister or some vague acquaintance.
Darrel used to tell me that he was devoted to his work, that his life revolved around his career. He called it “building a foundation before building a family.”
And I accepted it. I didn’t question him. I didn’t push for more. But now, as I looked around, the reality of his actions was beginning to chip away at me, wearing down my resolve.
After exchanging a few polite words with his former colleague, I finally returned to our home—or what was supposed to be ours. The place felt hollow, the warmth gone, leaving nothing but shadows of memories in every corner. Everywhere I looked, I saw traces of the love we once shared, like ghosts of the past. Even the smallest trinket seemed to carry the weight of a forgotten promise.
In one of those corners sat a memento from a time when he once whispered, “Fionna, I may have nothing now, but I’ll work hard to build a future for us—a life that’ll make you want to be my wife.”