Chapter 119

Chapter 119
Chapter 119

David’s POV

I stayed on the floor longer than I expected to.

The bottle was empty. The silence was loud. Not in sound, but in presence. It pressed against my ears, my chest, my thoughts. There was nothing to distract me from it anymore.

No calls I wanted to answer. No messages I wanted to read. No people left who mattered.

Just me.

And the apartment.

I opened my eyes again and looked around slowly, like I was seeing the place for the first time. Dust floated in the air whenever I moved. It caught the light from the windows and drifted like something alive. Like the space itself was breathing, waiting.

Waiting for something that would never come.

I stood up, slowly, feeling the weight in my legs. My body felt heavy, not from alcohol alone, but from everything else that had settled inside me over time. Guilt. Regret. Exhaustion. A kind of emptiness that did not go away no matter how much I tried to ignore it.

I walked into the living room again.

Stopped in the center.

This was supposed to be where we spent our evenings. Sitting together. Talking. Watching something. Planning things. Living a normal life.

I could see it in my mind.

Lucia sitting on the couch, her legs curled under her, reading something. Looking up at me when I walked in. Smiling like she always did when she saw me.

Not the Isabella I knew now.

Not the cold version of her.

Lucia.

The real one.

The one who used to exist.

I ran a hand over the back of the couch under the sheet. The fabric underneath felt untouched. Clean in a way that made it worse. Like nothing had ever disturbed it. Like no one had ever sat there. Laughed there. Lived there.

I moved to the window.

Looked out.

The view was quiet. Normal. People walking below. Cars passing. Life continuing like nothing had happened. Like nothing ever would.

That thought hurt more than anything else.

The world didn’t stop for people like me.

It didn’t pause.

It didn’t mourn.

It just kept moving forward, leaving people behind without noticing.

I leaned my forehead against the glass.

“Why here?” I whispered.

My voice sounded small.

“Why did you choose this place?”

I already knew the answer.

Because she believed in a future with me.

Because she wanted something stable. Something real. Something we could build together without fear of losing it.

Because she trusted me.

I closed my eyes.

That word stayed in my head.

Trusted.

I turned away from the window and walked into the kitchen.

Everything was still in place. Cabinets closed. Dishes covered. Clean. Organized. Like a life paused mid-step.

I opened one cabinet.

Empty.

Another.

Glasses wrapped carefully in paper.

Lucia had prepared everything.

Not just the apartment. The life that was supposed to come with it.

She had planned for meals. For routines. For mornings. For nights.

She had planned a life with me.

And I had not shown up for it.

I closed the cabinet slowly.

My chest tightened again.

I leaned against the counter and lowered my head.

“I was supposed to be here,” I said quietly.

The words felt strange.

Not dramatic. Not exaggerated.

Just true.

I walked back into the bedroom.

Sat on the edge of the bed again.

This time, I stayed longer.

The silence in here felt different.

Heavier.

More personal.

Like this room carried the weight of something that never happened but still mattered.

I lay back on the bed.

The mattress was firm. Unused. Waiting.

I stared at the ceiling.

My mind started drifting.

Back.

Not to Isabella.

To Lucia.

The first time she smiled at me in a way that felt real.

Not polite.

Not controlled.

Just genuine.

I remembered the way she used to talk about small things. Things that didn’t matter to anyone else. Books she liked. Places she wanted to visit. Ideas about the future that sounded simple but meant everything to her.

She didn’t talk like someone who wanted attention.

She talked like someone who already had something inside her worth sharing.

I turned my head slightly and looked at the frame again.

The glass was still cracked.

Her face split.

I reached out and picked it up.

Held it closer.

“You stayed,” I said softly. “Even when you shouldn’t have.”

My voice cracked a little.

“You stayed longer than you should have.”

I placed the frame back on the nightstand.

Sat up slowly.

The room felt smaller now.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

Like the walls had moved closer.

I stood up and started pacing.

Back and forth.

Not like Yvonne.

Not fast.

Slow.

Thoughtful.

Restless.

I tried to understand how everything reached this point.

It didn’t happen all at once.

It started small.

A lie here.

A decision there.

A moment I ignored.

A feeling I dismissed.

Then another.

And another.

Until everything built into something I couldn’t control anymore.

Until the consequences arrived all at once.

I stopped pacing.

Looked at my hands.

They were still shaking.

Not from alcohol now.

From everything.

From awareness.

From the weight of knowing exactly what I had done.

“I didn’t think it would go this far,” I said quietly.

But that didn’t matter.

Intentions didn’t matter anymore.

Only outcomes.

And the outcome was this.

I walked back to the living room and pulled the sheet off the sofa completely.

Sat down.

It sank slightly under my weight.

I leaned back.

Closed my eyes again.

Another memory came.

Lucia standing in a room, talking about this apartment. Explaining how she wanted it to feel. Not like a showpiece. Not like something to impress people. Just something comfortable.

Somewhere real.

Somewhere honest.

Somewhere safe.

She had looked at me that day and said she wanted us to have something that belonged to us.

Not borrowed.

Not temporary.

Ours.

I opened my eyes.

“It was yours,” I said quietly.

The words felt heavier than anything else I had said that day.

“Not mine.”

My voice faded.

Silence returned.

I sat there for a long time.

Not moving.

Not drinking.

Not thinking too much.

Just existing in the space she had created.

At some point, my phone turned back on.

The screen lit up again.

Missed calls.

Messages.

Yvonne.

More than before.

I stared at the screen.

My thumb hovered over her name.

For a second, I thought about calling her back.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t give her what she wanted.

Revenge.

Anger.

Support in something that would only make everything worse.

I already knew where that path led.

I had walked it.

I let the screen go dark again.

Put the phone down beside me.

Leaning back, I exhaled slowly.

“Everyone is gone,” I said to the empty room.

The words didn’t echo.

They just disappeared.

I stayed there, sitting on the couch, until the light outside started to change.

Afternoon turning into evening.

Shadows growing longer across the floor.

Time moving forward whether I was ready or not.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t eat.

Didn’t sleep.

Just sat.

And thought.

And remembered.

And slowly, painfully, accepted something I had been avoiding for a long time.

There was no version of this where everything went back to how it was.

No version where I could undo the choices I made.

No version where Lucia became Lucia again and everything reset.

That life was gone.

Not paused.

Not hidden.

Gone.

And all that remained was what I did next.

But even that felt uncertain.

Because for the first time, I didn’t know if I deserved a next step at all.

I looked at the broken picture again.

Walked over and picked it up.

The crack across her face was still sharp.

Permanent.

I traced it with my finger.

“You moved on,” I said quietly.

“You had to.”

My voice softened.

“And I’m still here.”

I set the frame down gently.

Not fixing it.

Not moving it.

Just leaving it as it was.

Broken.

Like me.

I walked back to the center of the room.

Stopped.

Looked around one more time.

This place had waited for us.

Patient.

Silent.

Ready.

And we never came.

Now it would remain empty.

Or maybe someone else would live here someday.

Someone else would build something in this space.

Someone else would sit on this couch.

Someone else would sleep in that bed.

Someone else would have the life I threw away.

That thought didn’t make me angry.

It made me quiet.

Because it was fair.

More than fair.

It was exactly what should happen.

I exhaled slowly.

Then picked up my bag.

The only thing I had left from outside.

The only thing that still belonged to me.

I didn’t know where I would go next.

Didn’t know what came after this moment.

But staying here wasn’t the answer.

Not anymore.

I looked around one last time.

Not with regret alone.

But with understanding.

This wasn’t just a place.

It was a reminder.

Of what I had.

Of what I lost.

And of why I could never go back.

“I’m sorry,” I said one last time.

Not to the room.

Not to the past.

But to her.

To Lucia.

To the life that could have been.

Then I turned.

And walked out.

Closing the door behind me.

Not looking back again.

Because looking back would not change anything.

And for the first time since everything fell apart, I finally understood that clearly.

Some doors don’t reopen.

Some lives don’t restart.

And some people…

You only get one chance with.

And I had already wasted mine.