The waiter smiled at her like he knew a secret.
"Table for two?" he asked, glancing behind her shoulder.
Arielle returned a soft smile, shifting the strap of her leather bag higher on her arm. "Yes. But... it's just me for now. He's running late."
"Would you like to wait at the bar?"
She shook her head. "I'll take the table."
The waiter led her through the intimate glow of La Piazza—a quiet Italian restaurant tucked inside a leafy corner of the city. It was the kind of place that whispered money, love, and silent goodbyes all in one breath.
She settled into her seat and crossed her legs slowly. The clink of wine glasses and the soft hum of jazz filled the air, but Arielle heard none of it. Her ears strained only for the sound of his voice—Julien's voice. He was always late. Twenty-three minutes today. But she still came.
She always came.
Her phone buzzed beside her wine glass. One new message.
"Give me ten. Sorry, babe."
She didn't respond.
Instead, she leaned back and watched the candlelight catch the rim of her water glass. It was their sixth anniversary. Six years of loving a man who touched her skin like he owned it, but kissed her lips like he owed someone else.
Arielle didn't know when exactly she'd started noticing it. The way his eyes drifted when she spoke. The way he held her tighter in the dark, like he was afraid of forgetting. Or maybe remembering.
She ordered wine. Red. Dry. Something bitter enough to match her mood.
Ten minutes turned into fifteen. Then twenty.
And just as she began to consider leaving, she saw him.
Julien.
Tall. Handsome. That same well-cut black shirt he wore when he needed to impress. His eyes swept the room before they landed on her—and when they did, they lit up with guilt.
Guilt—not excitement.
"Hey babe," he said, kissing her forehead like a brother would. "Sorry, traffic."
City traffic. The eternal excuse.
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "It's okay. I ordered wine."
He slid into his seat and reached for the menu. "You look amazing. That dress—damn."
She looked down at the deep blue silk hugging her curves. He hadn't noticed it the first time.
"Thanks," she murmured. "So... six years."
He looked up. "Hmm?"
"Today. Six years together."
He blinked, then forced a grin. "Ah! That's true! Wow. Time flies."
She stared at him. Her chest ached, but not from anger. From knowing. Knowing she was celebrating something he had forgotten until this very moment.
The waiter returned, asked for their order. Julien waved it off with his usual charm, "Give us a few minutes, please."
Then, his phone buzzed.
He looked.
Paused.
Smiled.
But not the kind of smile he gave Arielle.
She saw it.
And something inside her... shifted.
"Who was that?" she asked, trying to sound casual.
He hesitated. "Nobody. Work."
Lies always start soft.
She sipped her wine and let the silence between them settle like dust. Something in her heart had stopped waiting.
Not for him.
For the truth.
Arielle woke up before the sun did.
The sky outside her window was still bruised purple, and the streets below murmured with the low purr of early commuters. Her side of the bed was cold. Julien hadn't stayed the night.
Again.
She reached out instinctively, hand grazing the untouched pillow beside her. Still smooth, still uncreased. He hadn't even pretended this time.
She sat up slowly, brushing strands of sleep-mussed hair from her face. Her apartment was too quiet. Too clean. The kind of tidy that comes not from discipline, but from a life spent waiting—never fully lived in.
She checked her phone.
No messages.
The anniversary dinner had ended awkwardly. Julien had left before dessert, claiming a work emergency. She had smiled and nodded, like she always did. And he had kissed her on the cheek like she was made of glass—fragile, easily forgotten.
But something inside her had stayed behind in that restaurant.
And something darker had followed her home.
---
Later that morning, she took a walk around the block. The city was just beginning to sweat, and the air clung to her skin like humidity and regret.
Her phone buzzed.
Julien.
> "Hey. Crazy night. Call you later?"
She didn't respond.
She kept walking. Past the coffee shop he used to surprise her at. Past the bookstore she once mentioned in passing and he never remembered.
All their memories had become ghosts—soft, untethered things that drifted behind her, whispering almosts.
Almost moved in together.
Almost got engaged.
Almost mattered.
Arielle stopped in front of a bridal store, her reflection blurred in the glossy glass. Inside, mannequins wore promises. Satin, lace, futures. She stared at one dress—a sleek, simple piece with long sleeves and a modest train.
She imagined herself in it.
Then she imagined Julien's face as she walked toward him, and everything in her twisted.
She turned and walked away.
---
By noon, she was at work, fingers clacking at her keyboard while her heart wandered elsewhere. Her boss, Eleanor, peeked her head in.
"Lunch?" she offered.
Arielle smiled politely. "Not hungry."
Eleanor gave a knowing nod and left her be.
The screen blurred. Emails. Numbers. Tasks. The background noise of a life half-lived.
She reached for her phone. Tapped it open. Scrolled past Julien's name.
Then, without fully understanding why, she typed out a message.
> "If I disappeared, would you even notice?"
She hovered over the send button.
But didn't.
Instead, she erased it. Word by word.
Because she already knew the answer.
---
The text was gone, but the weight of it lingered.
Arielle sat frozen in her office chair long after she'd erased the words. The cursor blinked at her like a ticking clock, asking what came next. Her screen dimmed. She hadn't touched it in minutes.
Julien used to make her laugh so easily.
Now, everything about him made her doubt.
She rose from her desk and walked to the window. Her office overlooked the city square, where people bustled from meetings to coffee breaks to lovers' quarrels that ended with rushed apologies. A world that moved, even when her heart didn't.
Then something caught her eye.
A man. Leaning against the fence across the street. Not remarkable in appearance—dark jacket, plain trousers—but his gaze was fixed.
On her.
He didn't look away when their eyes met. He didn't smile or shift awkwardly like someone caught staring. He simply watched her, calm and deliberate.
Arielle stepped back instinctively, the curtain brushing her arm.
But when she looked again—
He was gone.
She blinked at the empty sidewalk, unsure if he'd ever been there.
---
That night, Julien didn't call. Again.
Instead, she got a message just past 11 p.m.
> "Working late. Don't wait up."
He didn't ask how her day went. Didn't say he missed her. She stared at the screen until it dimmed in her hand, and for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel hurt.
She felt numb.
Arielle placed her phone on the nightstand and turned off the lamp. The room fell into silence, broken only by the hum of the fridge in the kitchen and the whisper of a breeze against her window.
Her sleep came in pieces.
In one fragment of dream, Julien was standing at the foot of their bed, soaked in rain, staring at her like she was someone he'd lost long ago.
In another, she was back at La Piazza, alone, the wine glass filling itself endlessly as candlelight flickered shadows that whispered her name.
She woke up just before dawn, heart racing.
And she wasn't alone.
Footsteps.
Soft. Slow. Inside her apartment.
Arielle sat up, breath caught in her throat. She reached for her phone—dead.
A shadow moved just outside her bedroom door.
She called out, "Julien?"
No answer.
Only silence.
Then the doorknob turned.