We Never Fought. That Was The Problem.

I opened the door to his apartment. Work had been exhausting. All I wanted was a quiet shower and to fall asleep in my boyfriend’s comforting arms.

I feel safe with him.
That’s what I told myself as I opened the bedroom door.

I saw her hair first.



Just like eight months ago.

The one we never talked about.
The one I smiled through, like it didn’t break my heart.
The one he smiled through, like he hadn’t hurt me.

Slowly, I turned back and closed the door behind me. In the silence that followed, I confronted the truth: My name is Bianca, and I hated Jake.

Words trying to rise in my throat burned before it reached my tongue.

The tears threatened to fall, but I blinked hard.
When did our love get this chaotic?
When did it get this quiet?


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