Sleep never really came that night. Every time I drifted off, Sarah’s voice pulled me awake again. Through the thin walls I could hear her laughter, her breathless cries, and the intimate whispers she never intended for me to hear.
“Justin…”
“I need you…”
The sounds tore at me. Part of me wanted to walk out of the house and never come back. Another part stayed frozen there in the darkness, listening to every word as dawn slowly crept through the curtains.
By sunrise I was stretched across the bed, exhausted and emotionally hollow, when the bedroom door finally opened.
Sarah stepped inside quietly.
One look at her told me she hadn’t slept either. Her hair was tangled, her makeup smudged, and there was a dreamy heaviness in her expression that made my stomach tighten. She paused near the bed, studying me with uncertain eyes.
“Do you hate me, Richie?” she asked softly.
The question hurt more than anything I’d heard during the night.
“No,” I answered immediately. “I love you.”
Sarah lowered her eyes. “I told Justin I couldn’t live without him.”
“I heard.”
She moved closer then, sitting carefully beside me. “I meant it,” she whispered.
I stared at her, trying to understand how the woman I loved could look so torn apart and so alive at the same time.
“That’s what he does to me,” she said quietly. “When I’m with him, everything feels… different.”
I swallowed hard. “Are you leaving me for him?”
Her answer didn’t come right away.
“He’s still with Brenda,” she finally said.
“That doesn’t mean this isn’t real.”
Sarah leaned back slightly, wrapping her arms around herself as though she were cold. “I think I need to stay with them for a while,” she admitted.
The words landed harder than any scream or confession from the night before. Until then, some part of me had believed this was temporary—that eventually she would come back fully to me.
Now I wasn’t so sure.