At 27,my life was already slipping away.I didn’t want to waste my remaining time in a bitter cold war between us.I wanted to say goodbye properly to the man I loved.
When I arrived at our house,I couldn’t find him,but I did see Chelsea emerging from our bedroom.
She wore nothing but Alexander’s oversized white shirt,her slender legs exposed,the neckline wide open,revealing flashes of her pale skin.It was both provocative and intimate.
I froze.
I couldn’t believe that in just ten days,Chelsea had moved in.
What shocked me even more was how Alexander—who had always been so particular—allowed her into our bedroom,even letting her wear his clothes.
He used to hold me in his arms,whispering that his clothes were meant only for me.He had sworn he’d love me for a lifetime,forever unchanging and faithful.
But here I stood,still alive,and he had already welcomed someone else into our home,into our life.She wore his shirt and walked in his slippers,as if they shared an unbreakable bond while I stood outside,utterly irrelevant.
The fight between us had started because of Chelsea.
That night at the bar,I had seen her sitting on his lap,their lips dangerously close.