had been a week.
Seven long, endless days.
Jay's house felt emptier than ever. Every corner screamed his absence. His jacket still hung on the hook, untouched. His coffee mug sat in the sink, dry and lonely. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air, a cruel reminder that he had been here… and now he wasn't.
She had searched everywhere. Called his friends, his office, his phone — nothing.
Her chest felt tight, her breaths short and panicked.
"Keifer…" she whispered to the empty room, voice trembling. "Where are you?"
No answer.
She ran through the streets, her heels clacking against the pavement, asking anyone she could. None had seen him. The panic in her chest twisted like a knife.
Her mind spun, frantically refusing the truth she didn't want to face.
Maybe he's avoiding me… maybe it's another fight… maybe… maybe he'll come back.
But the longer she searched, the heavier the silence became.
By the third day, the hope in her chest had begun to crack.
By the fifth day, it was almost gone.
By the seventh… the unbearable thought that had been creeping in all week settled fully in her mind:
What if he's never coming back?
Her hands shook as she dialed his number again, hoping, pleading, and…
Nothing.
Jay sank to the floor, phone slipping from her fingers. Her chest ached, not just with worry, but with the dawning horror of her own realization:
All the fights. All the yelling. All the petty anger she had thrown at him… it had driven him away in a way she could never undo.
And now… she had no idea how to fix what she had broken.