yna

ere was nothing left. The well was dry. I had poured everything into him for seven years, and now, I was just an empty vessel. He started

"Alayna, wait! Let's talk about this properly!

t up to me, grabbing my arm. His grip was firm, familiar, but this time it felt like a cage. "What is it, then? What's the

arm away, surprised by my own strength. "It' s real. All of it. The neglect.

o suspicious, so dramatic. You make me feel like I can't breathe sometimes! All you ever do is complain about

off the boxes of his usual manipulation tactics. Making me the problem? Check. Turning hi

ce, his hand hovering, before pulling back at the last second, perhaps remembering the cameras. He settled for a comforting pat on her hair. The fans, of cour

ne with

ced by a caricature of Hollywood ambition and self-absorption. This person standing in front

g my back on him for good. The fin

, his face hardened. "Fine! Go! When you ca

shut behind me. I

ng my needs, at being the "supportive girlfriend" who never caused troubl

nkled his eyes when he laughed. So, I planned a surprise visit. I meticulously packed his favorite homemade cookies, his preferred brand of coffee, a hand-knitted scarf for the chilly nights on set. I e

e scene. I arrived just as the director called "Action!" and Jarrett and his co-star, not Kisha, but another actress, were locked in a passiona

for his co-star, instantly glazed over with fury. The

hissed, his voice low and dangerous. The calm, composed Jarrett, the one who always charmed everyone,

you," I stammered, tears stingin

think this is a picnic? You just ruined a take, Alayna! An expensive take! Do you have any idea how much this costs

t you just trust me?" He even kicked at the fallen basket, sending a bottle

their eyes. I stood there, utterly humiliated, tears streaming down my face. "You're a

using a scene on my set? Because I expect a little professionalism? You

nd of his angry shouts fading behind me. I ran until my lun

wn on one knee, tears in his eyes, begging me to stay. "I can't lose you, Alayna," he'd whispered, his voice cracking. "You're my anchor. My everything. I'm sorry. I wa

idiot, I s

s of his art." He' d use those words like blunt instruments, bludgeoning my self-worth until I was too bruised to fight back.

oncrete wall between us. I looked at him, his mouth still moving, still spewing justifications, and felt nothing. No anger, no sadness, n

voice barely above a whisper, but

g for an argument, for a way to reel me back in. He' d never seen me like this.

towards the door. "I'm not going to arg

perhaps, that this time was different. This time, there was no figh

tment we once called home. The silence he left behind this time wasn