He pictured Clara sneaking around behind his back, meeting someone in secret, slipping away without a single word to him. The thought burned painfully in his chest. What if the real reason she hadn’t come back or answered his calls was that she was with someone new? Someone she trusted more than him?
Fear quickly twisted into bitter jealousy. He drove to all of Clara’s favorite spots: the quiet park bench where she loved to read, the cozy café they visited every week without fail, and the little bookstore where they’d first met. Every single place was empty and quiet, offering no trace that she’d ever been there at all.
Back home, he opened her half-filled wardrobe. A few shirts hung loosely on the rack, spaced out strangely, making him question if he even remembered what clothes she’d had there the day before. Some items felt familiar, others oddly out of place. He couldn’t tell if something was actually missing or if his sleep-deprived mind was just playing cruel tricks on him.
