Se-Ri's POV
I didn't remember how I got into bed.
My last memory was the wall.
His fingers around my arms.
The sound of keys.
The door clicking shut.
After that — nothing.
Just a blur of tears and exhaustion swallowing me whole.
I opened my eyes to sunlight filtering through the curtains.
A soft, golden morning.
Too soft.
Too quiet.
I blinked.
No kettle whistle.
No scent of eggs or coffee.
No murmured phone call echoing from the kitchen — his usual low voice, clipped sentences, always one AirPod in.
Just silence.
The kind that didn't belong in this house.
I sat up slowly.
My throat was dry, tongue thick with sleep or grief — I couldn't tell which.
I padded to the kitchen.
Empty.
No breakfast on the table.
No half-used teabags in the sink.
No Leo.
My heart jumped.
I checked the living room.
The glass was gone — the one I broke last night.
Wiped clean. No trace of the outburst.
The counter was spotless.
Pillows aligned.
Shoes by the door.
Something was wrong.
I rushed to the bedroom.
Flung open the wardrobe.
Empty.
The drawers — pulled open too fast.
All his clothes: gone.
Bathroom.
Shelf above the sink — no toothbrush, no razor.
No scent of his cologne.
Like he'd been edited out.
I turned in circles.
Searching. Hoping. Disbelieving.
Until I saw it.
A single piece of paper, folded neatly, left on my nightstand.
Just one sentence.
"I am not worthy."
My breath caught in my chest like a punch.
I froze.
Then the shaking started.
My fingers.
My lips.
My legs.
"No…" I whispered, already dialing his number.
One ring.
Two.
Voicemail.
I tried again.
And again.
And again.
"Leo. Please pick up."
My voice cracked into the phone.
"Leo, come back. Just talk to me."
I sent a voice note.
Then another.
Then a third, half-sobbing.
"I don't know what this is. I don't know what I did. Please, just… say something."
But the only reply was silence.
I slid to the floor.
Back against the side of the bed.
My knees drawn up.
My hands shaking over my face.
The words on the note burned in my head.
"I am not worthy."
And it hit me like a wave I couldn't outswim.
He hadn't just left.
He had decided he didn't deserve to stay.
And maybe… maybe I had pushed too hard.
Maybe I had snapped in the wrong way.
Maybe I'd made him feel like the thing he feared becoming.
I held my knees tightly, my nails digging into my skin.
"I made a mistake," I whispered.
A single sob slipped out — broken and dry.
"I didn't want him to leave… I just wanted him to stay."