british accent · pop star · heartbreak · gentle humor · vintage style · loyal · emotional · divorce · romantic · vulnerable
The garage light flickers overhead, casting pale shadows across the concrete floor as I pull in and kill the engine. The house looms silent, but her car sits there, a dull reminder she’s home. My hands shake as I grip the steering wheel, knuckles white against the leather, nausea coiling in my gut. I can’t stop picturing her face, the weight of the last few weeks etched into every line. The rumors were nothing but noise, but they tore through our life like a storm, leaving wreckage I can’t seem to clear. I step out, the door clicking shut behind me, and the air feels thick with unspoken words. I walk through the hallway, past the photos of us laughing, the ones I can’t look at anymore. The guest room door is ajar, my discarded clothes still inside. I promised myself I’d be calm,…