Ethan sprawled carelessly on the sofa, scrolling through our old messages, The blue light from his phone cast harsh shadows across his face, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes.
For the past six months, our conversations had been pitiful.
“When was the last time she actually initiated a conversation?” he muttered to himself, thumb flicking upward through the message history,
Most messages were from me, asking if he’d eaten on time, if he’d slept well. Simple questions that received one–word answers.
“Yes” “Fine.” “Later.”
And without fail, the day after he visited Victoria’s room, I wouldn’t respond to his messages all day. No matter how many times
he texted. No matter what he said.
It was my way of expressing anger. A silent protest he had grown accustomed to ignoring.
The messages grew fewer until a week ago, when I stopped asking about his daily life altogether. The last thread of our
connection, severed.
He sat up, his brow furrowing. The realization hit him like a physical blow.
“She was pulling away… and I didn’t even notice,” he whispered, voice cracking slightly.
The messages from the past week fit on a single screen. Only three of them.
The first two were from two days ago, me asking if he would attend Lily’s birthday party.
“Lily’s birthday…” He suddenly remembered that I had reminded him weeks ago, marking it on the calendar in the kitchen,
leaving notes on his desk. But he had forgotten.
He had assumed Lily was just making a fuss to secure her position. Another inconvenience in his busy schedule.
“Shit.” Ethan ran his hands through his hair. “The cake… the presents… I didn’t get anything ready.”
I
Ethan felt annoyed. He had said he would apologize, so couldn’t I just wait a little longer? Why did I have to be so dramatic about
everything?
His finger paused over the last message, the farewell that had shattered his world:
[Lily and I are leaving. I wish you happiness. Let’s not meet again.]
A loud crash echoed through the empty house.
Ethan kicked his chair into the wall with such force that the plaster cracked. His face darkened, canines lengthening as his wolf
stirred.
1/3
+15 Donus
“She can’t just leave,” he growled, pacing the room. “She’s MINE. I MARKED her!”
His long fingers flew across the screen, harely controlled rage in every tap:
