Page 2 of Returned Mail

The last few months start replaying in my mind all at once. The late nights at work. The distance. The shorter conversations. The way he stopped reaching for my hand in the grocery store or when we walked around town. The way he seemed to be somewhere else, even when he was sitting right beside me.

I feel cold, but I’m sweating at the same time.

“Just say it, Sebastian.”

When his eyes finally meet mine, I see it. Guilt. I swear I could feel my stomach drop straight through the floor.

“I haven't been happy for a while.”

The words hit me harder than I expected because that’s not what I thought he’d say. I thought he was going to tell me he cheated on me. For a second, I just stare at him, waiting for the rest of that sentence. For more context. For literally anything else that would make sense to me right now.

Because that sure as hell doesn’t.

“What does that mean?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I think we've been growing apart.”

I blink. “Wait, what?”

“Mia—”

“No.” A nervous laugh escapes me because surely that's not what this is. Surely a six-year relationship doesn't end with a conversation that sounds like it belongs in a breakup scene from a bad rom-com. “We've had rough patches before.”

“It's not just a rough patch, Mia.”

My heart starts pounding in my chest.

“No.”

His jaw tightens, and suddenly I realize he's already made up his mind. He didn't sit down with me to discuss this. He sat me down to inform me. The realization sends panic shooting through my chest.

“Sebastian.” He looks away, and I hate that. I fucking hate that he won't look at me. “We can fix this.” The words tumble out too quickly. “We've always fixed things.”

“Mia.”

“No.” I lean forward, and somewhere along the way, I’ve started crying. “We've been together for six years.”

“I know.”

“We talked about getting married.”

“I know.”

“We even looked at houses.”

His eyes close briefly. “I know.”

My voice breaks. “So what exactly are you saying?” The answer arrives before he speaks. I can see it in his face. It’s in the way he can't look at me. It’s in the guilt that’s hanging from every word he is saying. My chest tightens again. “No.”

His expression changes just slightly, and the room suddenly feels too small. Too hot. Too bright. “Mia⁠—”

“Is there someone else?” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. “Is that what this is?” The look on his face confirms everything.

Everything.

Abso-fucking-lutely everything.

The world goes completely still. I stop breathing. I mean, I thought that was what he was going to say, like, some part of me already knew. But knowing is different than hearing it.