Broken Engagement, Berlin Escape

le just don't understand what real love is," were a final, brutal blow. I stared at the

s felt like lead. I walked to the front desk,

oman with tired eyes, asked softly. "Your boyfriend... he d

"He won't be coming back." I knew it, with a searing certainty. The Graham I loved, the Graham I

in. I collapsed onto the bed, the mattress too soft, too empty. My body ached, a dull throb in every muscle. My phone buzzed, Graham's name flashing across the sc

with emotion, "I've never felt this way about anyone. You're the one." I remembered the airport, his tears streaming down his face as he clung to me. "Don't forget me," he' d begged, "Don't let anyone els

hand in mine, walking into the hotel. The brac

lled my nostrils. I blinked, disoriented, the white walls of a hos

my god, you gave me such a scare!" he exclaimed, reaching for my hand. "Why didn't you

rn, held an undertone of accusat

trying to understand him? Why had I flown across an ocean for this? My heart ached with a profound, weary

ng. I messed up. I know I did. I'll make it right. I prom

moment, I searched his face, his eyes. Th

nd hospital food, read to me from a book, and watched over me with a quiet, attentive presence. It

e was gone. My heart clenched. My phone buzzed. A text from Graham:

story, posted just thirty minutes ago. A picture of her, wrapped in a familiar grey duvet, a mischiev

eft. The one I' d slept under countless times. The room, with its distinc

my head, a cruel symphony of deceit. He hadn

ed into fists. I ripped off the IV, ignored the dull pain, and stumbled out of the h

n eyes, one last time. I needed to burn the image into my

apartment address. The ride was a blur. My heart hammered, a d

. And

was clinging to his arm, her head resting on his shoulder, her laughter tinkling in the night air.

possessiveness. My eyes narrowed. On his wrist, glinting in the dim light, was the silv

atching in my throat. I pulled out my pho

muffled, a hint of irritation. "Katelyn?

onvincing. It was like he was talking to a ghost,

wn voice shaking. I needed to test him. One last time. "Ca

atelyn, I told you, I'm really busy. I'll

ncrete seeping into my bones. Tears streamed down my face, hot and bitter. It wasn't a soft sob, but a deep, guttural cry t

he ceiling. The pain was still there, a dull ache that had settled deep in

back in New York. "Professor Davies," I said, my voice hoarse but firm. "I need

? Are you alright

utomotive engineering studies. More cutting-edge research, a stronger focus on el

er end, then a sigh. "It'll be complicat

my voice unwavering. "

ally conceded. "I'll see w

city far, far away from London. A ci