Her: Day 1 - The day he left

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There were no signs of his presence anywhere. Not in the empty desk across my vanity mirror, where his laptop and blueprints were supposed to be. Not in the bathroom sink, where his toothbrush or deodorant was placed. Even in the living room, a sports magazine's stashes and an empty pizza box are mostly present.

There were no signs of him.

It felt bizarre waking up alone after three years together. I should have felt free. But I didn't. There was nothing liberating when losing someone you love. And what hurts the most was we both choose to let go.

We didn't try and fix it. There was nothing but the quiet room as we sat across each other last night. I could still hear his words echoing.

"I can't do this anymore."

"Me too."

Our agreement on it was what hurt more.

The spark was long gone. Yet I still love him—or loved him now.

Do I still love him?

It felt robotic while getting ready to head out for work. I hadn't even glanced at my appearance in the mirror. I didn't care. I didn't feel. Even if it was a choice, it didn't feel the same. It wasn't the same without him. But I'd rather felt this empty rather than seeing us drift apart.

****

The drive was uneventful. When I got out of the car and walked up towards the Bistro, I stopped for a moment by the glass door. My hand held the cold steel handle as I peered across the street. On cue, there he was. He wore a navy-blue shirt and faded jeans while walking towards the coffee shop. He didn't glance in my direction even though I knew he saw me.

With a sigh, I opened the door and entered.

The Bistro is a family-owned business managed by my peculiar mother. She had a passion for cooking, which I garnered from her, which sparked her to start the business. It was located blocks away from the business district. Its bare brick walls, wooden tables, steel chairs, porcelain plates, and checkered tablemats made you nostalgic about having a picnic outside. It reflected a lot about my mother's character.

"I see you're alive and well, Emilia." Thus, the woman herself appeared my mother, Cassandra Hart. Her piercing gaze was subjective. "I heard the news about the break-up."

"How could you even know that, mom? It was last night!"

"Of course, I'd know. I'm your mother," she argued.

"Who told you? Was it Nina? She's the only one I called last night."

She pursed her lip and pulled out a chair closest to her, sitting down before answering. "Yes, she told me. And I'm hurt you hadn't even tried to confide in me. But I'm glad you and your sister are the first people to call each other when something is wrong. Still, I'm your mother. You could have called."

I rolled my eyes and headed towards her table, placing my purse and jacket by the empty chair.

"I'm sorry I didn't call and tell you myself. I was going to tell you today," I defended, trying to get back on her good graces. "I called Nina because we don't work under the same roof. You know everything I do, mother."

She beamed. "Glad to know you don't feel any aversion that I have such knowledge." She paused for a second. "So, tell me. Nina didn't get into details last night."

I sighed. "What do you want to know?" I inquired. What was I going to say? We had drifted apart and could no longer fix it. She adored him as I had. From the pained look on her face, she still loved him.

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