The gentle summer breeze danced into the dark room, rustling the stack of papers she had so carefully piled on her dresser. And as she heard the papers rustle, she waited.
Lying in her bed, nervously wrigining the sheet in her hands, she waited. And as she waited, she listened. Listened for any sign that he was coming home that night. That he wasn't avoiding her, their apartment, the "talk". She breathed in deep, filling her lungs to their capacity, until it felt as though they were on fire.
She held the breath for a beat, feeling as two tears trickled down each cheek.
Releasing the air, counting backwards in her head, she let out a sob in the end, realizing that he wasn't coming home tonight. She turned on her side, facing her wall, burying her head in the pillow. She tried to forget the shame she felt over falling for a man who was "too good for her".
How could she have been so stupid? To think that he would ever care for her. To think that he would want to be with her. To think that he felt the same level of passion.
To think she thought what they shared was love.
It wouldn't be the first time she was wrong.
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