Lost Without You

Am I going to die? Is this really the end? The questions tumbled through Sarah's fading mind as she lay motionless on the cold pavement, her body broken and fading, surrounded by the twisted remains of the crash. The sharp, acrid scent of gasoline hung heavy in the air, mixing with the thick smoke rising from the crumpled hoods nearby. Flickering streetlights struggled against the darkness, their dim glow reflecting off the slick pavement, remnants of an earlier rain.

"I need to survive!"

Shattered glass glistened like stardust around her, scattered across the dark street. The stars twisting and warping as her vision faded in and out. The world was slipping away, just like her body.

Her vision blurred in and out as figures moved above her, frantic and uncertain. She caught glimpses of people running, their voices blending into a distant hum. A man dialed for an ambulance, his hands shaking, while others gathered around, their faces pale and wide-eyed.

"She's too young to die!" A voice-an old woman's-broke through the murmur, its sharpness cutting into her fading consciousness. The words landed heavy, like stones sinking in her chest.

Why? What did I do to deserve this? Her thoughts swirled in confusion, the darkness pressing closer, suffocating. She tried to lift her hand, to scream for help, but the weight of her body held her down. Silence swallowed her, and her voice remained trapped in her throat.

In the distance, sirens began to wail, faint at first but growing louder, slicing through the stillness. The crowd parted as the paramedics rushed toward her, their voices urgent and clear.

"Make way!" One shouted, his breath fogging in the cool air. Panic rippled through the crowd, their curious eyes wide with fear, stranded in indecision as they glanced between Sarah and the paramedics.

"Miss, can you hear me?" The voice cut through the haze. A young man, maybe in his twenties, hovered above her. She felt the slight pressure of his fingers on her wrist, searching for a pulse. "Can you speak?"

Her mouth opened, but no sound came. Faces blurred in her periphery, their voices muffled and distant, like echoes through water. The stars above twinkled, uncaring and strangely peaceful. Her body grew heavier, sinking into the cold ground.

I don't wanna die...

Warmth pooled around her head, sticky and thick, soaking into her hair. Her floral dress clung to her skin, the once-soft fabric now stained and stiff with blood. The engagement ring on her finger caught the light, its delicate promise of a future flickering, just out of reach.

In an instant, she was on the stretcher. Sirens blared in the distance, and the cold pavement was replaced by the harsh lights of an ambulance. Oxygen masks, hurried hands, and urgent voices filled the small space. The paramedics worked around her, but all she could think of was him.

Harry... I need to find him...

Her lips moved, barely able to form the word. Her breath was weak, a whisper slipping through her cracked lips. "Harry..."

One of the paramedics leaned closer, his ear hovering near her mouth.

"Harry..." she repeated, her voice faint, slipping away like the rest of her.

"Stay with me," the paramedic urged, his voice calm but firm. "Don't talk."

A tear slid down Sarah's cheek as her vision dimmed, the darkness consuming her.

Flashback: Three months earlier...

The scent of warm bread and fresh coffee filled the small bakery, wrapping the morning in quiet comfort.

"Morning, beautiful," George greeted, setting a warm loaf on the counter with a satisfied sigh.

Sarah looked up from the register, a genuine smile lifting her tired eyes. "Good morning, George. How's your day going so far?"

At twenty-five, Sarah Wayne had become a neighborhood favorite, not just for her baking skills but for the kindness she radiated with every interaction. Her short-cropped hair framed her face neatly, and her fair skin had a rosy glow from the warmth of the ovens. But it was the easy, genuine warmth in her voice that kept regulars like George coming back.

"No complaints," George replied, pulling a faded wallet from his pocket, his hands trembling slightly. His thin frame seemed smaller beneath the loose fabric of his shirt, but his eyes still carried the spark of youth.

Sarah handed him his change with a warm smile. "And Becky? How's she doing?"

A grin cracked across George's face, brightening the lines etched by time. "She had triplets," he announced proudly, his voice trembling with excitement.

Sarah's eyebrows shot up. "Triplets? That's amazing!" She packed the bread carefully, sliding the bag across the counter. "She won't be alone anymore."

George chuckled softly, holding the bag with careful hands. "That young man of yours-how's he doing?"

Sarah's hands paused as she wrapped pastries for another customer, a small breath catching in her throat before she let out a practiced smile. "Harry's good," she replied, avoiding the part about how she'd barely seen him in days. "Still chasing his dream."

"And when are you two tying the knot?" George asked with a playful grin, leaning on his walking stick.

She forced a laugh, folding the change into his hand, careful not to show the way her stomach tightened at the question. It was the same one everyone asked, and every time, the answer felt further away.

"I'll let you know when he decides," she quipped lightly, but her heart gave a soft, uncertain ache.

As George shuffled out, Sarah watched him through the window, her eyes tracing the way the sunlight caught on the wet pavement outside, making the world look cleaner than it was.

Behind her, the bakery buzzed with the sound of the ovens, the hiss of milk steaming for lattes, and the soft thud of bread loaves landing on the counter. She moved automatically, greeting customers, exchanging small talk, letting herself forget for a while the weight that pressed against her ribs whenever she thought of Harry.

They had opened the bakery together four months earlier, investing everything they had-Harry's small savings from his gigs and Sarah's life savings. It wasn't much, but it had been enough to paint the walls a warm cream, install the old ovens they found on discount, and purchase the mismatched chairs that crowded the small tables.

Sarah loved the bakery. It was more than just a business. It was a promise, a dream, a future she had built with Harry. It was the way his eyes sparkled when he talked about making enough money to support his acting until he could land a big role. It was the way he kissed her forehead before leaving for auditions, whispering that he'd be back before closing.

It was everything.

But as the days passed, Harry's presence at the bakery had become more like a memory than a promise. The bakery became hers alone-her early mornings, her late nights, her tired feet, and her smiling face for every customer who came through the door. Harry's calls grew fewer, his messages shorter, always ending with "Love you, babe. Busy day."

Busy day.

"Sarah, you look exhausted."

Maria's voice floated through the phone as Sarah balanced a tray of croissants, her apron smeared with flour. She tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear, balancing a box of pastries while glancing at the clock.

"It's nothing," Sarah replied, wiping sweat from her brow. "The morning rush was insane."

Maria sighed. "You're doing too much alone. What's Harry even doing these days?"

Sarah's throat tightened. "He's... working on his auditions," she said carefully.

Silence filled the line before Maria spoke again, softer. "I know you love him, but don't lose yourself, Sarah."

That evening, after closing the bakery and locking up, Sarah trudged back to her small rented room above the corner laundromat. She placed the day's earnings on the small table, counting each bill with tired precision, mentally calculating what would go to rent, what would pay for flour, what was left for groceries.

Her phone buzzed with a message.

Harry: Meet me at 8 at the theater. I'm performing. You're invited.

Her heart fluttered, the exhaustion of the day falling away. She typed back, Good luck, her fingers trembling, before she tried calling him, only to be sent straight to voicemail.

Later that evening, Sarah stood in front of the mirror in her small room, the last rays of sunset slipping through the curtains, turning the plain walls gold. She adjusted the soft blue dress she had chosen, smoothing it over her hips as she brushed a loose curl behind her ear. Her favorite lipstick, a deep red, brightened her pale features, adding a touch of color to the tiredness that had settled in her eyes.

On the dresser, her phone lay on speaker as Maria's voice crackled through.

"So, after two years, he finally invites you to one of his plays?" Maria teased, curiosity clear in her voice.

Sarah twisted a curl with her fingers, her reflection studying her as if she were someone else. "Yeah. Looks like he's ready to show me what he's been working on."

Maria's laughter was warm, but there was caution there too. "You're too patient, Sarah. When's he going to step up? You've been holding down everything while he's out chasing dreams."

The words stung, but Sarah forced a soft smile. "We're both busy," she replied, placing her earrings on, her hands steady despite the ache in her chest. "We just need more time."

Maria's voice softened. "You deserve someone who chooses you every day. Don't forget that."

Sarah ended the call, slipping her phone into her small bag as she glanced at the photo on her dresser-her and Harry, arms wrapped around each other, his grin wide and easy, hers softer, careful.

Her thumb hovered over the message as she walked, reading it again. There had been no follow-up call, no voice message. Just that single line.

She reached the theater, its grand Art Deco facade looming above her, the marquee lights flickering, half-broken. The letters spelled out only fragments of words, giving the place a haunted feel despite its history of glittering premieres.

Sarah hesitated, fingers brushing over the ornate brass handles before she pulled the heavy doors open.

She pushed open the heavy doors, their hinges groaning, the warm air inside a stark contrast to the chill outside. The theater smelled of old wood and something floral-like lilies left too long in the water. The old chandeliers hung above like the skeletons of a bygone era, their crystals dull in the gloom.

Her pulse thudded as she stepped inside.

"Harry?" Her voice echoed across the cavernous lobby, bouncing back at her, thin and uncertain.

Silence answered.

She checked her phone. No new messages. She was early by five minutes, but the building's silence made each second stretch painfully long.

She took a cautious step forward, her eyes adjusting to the darkness as she noticed a single spotlight seeping from the half-open theater doors ahead. The light was warm, inviting, but the emptiness pressed against her like a weight.

She pushed the door open.

The vast auditorium stretched before her, rows upon rows of faded red seats swallowing the space, while the stage was bathed in a pool of soft gold light.

A figure stood in that light.

Sarah's breath caught as she stepped closer, squinting. It was a man, dressed in loose black pants and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal lean forearms. His dark curls brushed his shoulders, and his posture was relaxed yet poised.

He opened his mouth, and her world froze.

It was her favorite song.

A haunting, romantic melody she had once confessed to Harry that she wanted played at her wedding, a memory from a late-night conversation under streetlights. The stranger's voice was smooth, resonant, pulling at something deep inside her as it echoed through the empty theater.

She should have felt flattered, but the unease was stronger.

Why was he singing to her?

The man's eyes were closed, lost in the song, but as he reached the final verse, they snapped open, and for a fleeting second, their eyes met. A slow smile curled on his lips, sending a chill up her spine.

Sarah's instincts screamed at her to leave.

She turned to leave, but collided with a warm, solid chest.

"Careful," came a familiar voice, deep and calm.

Harry.

Relief and confusion collided in her chest. She looked up into his green eyes, which crinkled as he smiled softly at her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Welcome, Sarah," he said.

For a moment, the oddness of the evening melted away. She returned his smile, but confusion still swirled in her chest. "Is this... a rehearsal?" she asked, glancing at the stage, where the stranger's voice still floated.

Harry's smile deepened, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes.

"No," he murmured. "You're part of this play. And it's called 'You.'"

A frown tugged at her lips. "I don't understand... Harry, what's going on?"

Before he could answer, the spotlight shifted, illuminating a group of dancers emerging from the shadows. They moved gracefully to a piece of classical music that filled the theater, their voices blending into the soaring melody, their faces hidden behind delicate lace masks. The ethereal beauty of the scene should have captivated her, but instead, her heart pounded harder. Something was off.

She turned back to Harry, but the space beside her was empty.

"Harry?" Her voice trembled, barely audible over the growing swell of the music. She spun in place, scanning the darkened hall for him. Then, his voice-clear, strong-cut through the music, singing the same romantic melody as before.

Sarah's gaze snapped back to the stage. There he was, bathed in the spotlight, standing alone, his voice pouring emotion into every note. She froze, breathless, as Harry descended from the stage, his eyes never leaving hers. He reached for her hand, guiding her up the stairs to join him under the warm circle of light.

The air shimmered with rose petals that gently cascaded from above, soft as whispers, brushing her skin as they fluttered down. Her heart raced, torn between disbelief and wonder. The opera singers waved, their voices lifting in harmony, as if celebrating her presence. And in that fleeting moment, Sarah understood-this was all for her.

As her eyes met Harry's, he knelt before her. The music faded into the background, the world narrowing to just the two of them.

"I can't imagine another minute without you," he said, his voice low, intimate.

His hand, steady and sure, reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. He opened it slowly, revealing a delicate ring. The diamonds sparkled under the light, but it was Harry's gaze that captured her, full of warmth and certainty.

"Sarah Wayne," he whispered, "will you marry me?"

For a heartbeat, the world went silent.

She stopped believing anyone could ever truly like her. But then, Harry came into her life. It took time for her to trust him. Harry was different. Patient and unwavering, he stayed by her side, proving himself in quiet, steady ways. Slowly, she began to believe in him, and even more so, in herself. For the first time, after meeting Harry, she realized she deserved happiness-and she deserved it with him.

Tears pricked her eyes, memories flashing in quick bursts-her lonely childhood, the long days of scraping by, the fear of trusting anyone, and the warmth Harry had brought into her life. The bakery, their laughter, the quiet moments she had thought were too simple to mean anything, but now felt like the foundation of her world.

She nodded, unable to form words. "Yes," she whispered.

Cheers erupted around them as the dancers clapped, the lights brightening to a warm glow. Music swelled, drowning out the last fragments of fear.

Harry slipped the ring onto her finger, standing to pull her into a gentle embrace. The scent of his cologne surrounded her, grounding her in the moment.

"You've made me the happiest man alive," he murmured against her ear.

Sarah clung to him, overwhelmed, the softness of his voice breaking through every wall she had built.

But as they pulled apart, the lights flickered.

For a second, the stage darkened, and in that darkness, Sarah felt it-a presence, cold and watching, somewhere in the shadows of the empty seats.

The lights returned, bright and cheerful, but Sarah's smile faltered.

Harry seemed not to notice, lifting her hand to kiss it. "Let's go celebrate," he said, leading her off the stage.

They walked to the bakery afterward, the air cool and fresh, the city alive with distant traffic and laughter spilling from nearby restaurants. Harry's hand never left hers, his thumb tracing soft circles against her skin.

The bakery was closed, but Harry had the key. It was theirs, after all. The air was rich with the scent of flour and sugar, the warmth of the day's baking still lingering. She flipped on the lights.

"Why here?" she asked, turning to him.

Harry smiled, pulling her into a dance in the middle of the empty bakery. "Because this is where it all started."

He swayed with her, humming softly, the quiet moment comforting, soothing the tension that still gripped her from the odd feeling at the theater.

But as they danced, she noticed the way his eyes flicked toward his phone on the counter, the screen lighting up with a message he ignored. His hand tightened on her waist briefly before relaxing again.

"Everything okay?" she asked softly.

"Perfect," he replied, but his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

She let it go, resting her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

The following days were a blur of planning. They visited bridal shops, flipped through catalogs, argued playfully over cake flavors, and took long walks through the park discussing flowers and venues.

Sarah should have been happy.

But every so often, when Harry thought she wasn't looking, she saw the tightness in his jaw as he glanced at his phone, the way he excused himself to take calls in hushed tones, the distant look that would sometimes cloud his eyes.

She tried to dismiss it. Everyone had secrets, she reasoned.

But one night, as she lay awake in her small apartment, staring at the ceiling, the doubt gnawed at her.

Why did Harry ignore those calls?

Why did she feel like she was being watched?

She rolled over, clutching the pillow to her chest, closing her eyes against the unease.

The days after the proposal were a whirlwind of joy and planning. They visited bridal shops, tried on suits and dresses, and circled dates on the calendar with eager hands. Yet beneath her excitement, Sarah felt the quiet ache of something missing.

She had no family to share this moment with.

One afternoon, as they stood in the bridal shop, Sarah's fingers lightly traced the intricate lace of a gown, its softness somehow amplifying the hollow feeling in her chest. Her smile faltered, her hand falling to her side. Harry, standing beside her, noticed immediately. He always did.

"I don't have anyone to invite," she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. She kept her gaze fixed on the gown, as though if she looked at Harry, her sadness would spill over.

For a moment, the shop was filled only with the faint hum of distant chatter, the rustling of silk and tulle. Then, Harry's hand gently found her shoulder. His touch was warm, grounding her in the moment.

"It's okay," he murmured softly, his voice filled with quiet understanding. "You have me. I don't have my mother with me either... but my father will be there. And together, "We'll make our own family, Sarah. One day, it'll be more than enough."

Her heart warmed at his words. Harry, ever the steady presence, had a way of making everything seem possible.

His words settled over her like a soft blanket, comforting yet bittersweet. Sarah looked up at him, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. She saw the sincerity in his green eyes, the way they softened with love and certainty.

Even when her past threatened to creep in, casting its long shadow, he was always there to pull her back into the light.

"I know," she whispered, trying to smile, though her heart still ached. "It's just... sometimes I wish things were different."

Harry cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing a tear that slipped free he said, his voice low and tender. "But what we build together-it'll be more than enough. I promise."

In that moment, Sarah felt the weight of her loneliness lift slightly. She nodded, letting his words soothe the emptiness that had followed her for so long. With Harry, perhaps she could believe that they really would create something whole, something new.

Looking into his eyes, Sarah couldn't help but believe him. Was she truly this lucky? Could happiness be this simple?

But something as off days turned into restless nights, Sarah's mind torn between the joy of planning a wedding with Harry and the gnawing dread of unanswered questions.

She tried to talk to him once.

"Harry... is there something you're not telling me?" she asked softly as they shared coffee in the bakery before opening.

He looked at her, blinking, before forcing a smile. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know... it's just... sometimes it feels like you're hiding something."

His expression softened, and he reached across the table, taking her hand. "Sarah, I would never hide anything from you. I love you."

The sincerity in his voice almost convinced her.

Almost.

Sarah had never felt more alive than in those days following Harry's proposal. The memory of rose petals falling like whispers around them, his eyes bright with promises of forever, and the soft weight of the ring on her finger became the lifeline she clung to as she prepared for their new beginning.

She decorated the bakery window with delicate white flowers, small cards that read Just Engaged tucked between the pastries. Customers congratulated her, and each "you're glowing" made her heart skip, believing that happiness, at last, was hers to keep.

But then, the silence came.

It began with a single day without a text, then two days without a visit. The bakery's door jingled open every morning, and she would glance up, expecting Harry, only to find strangers. Each evening, she sat at the small dining table in her apartment, phone beside her, waiting for a message that never came.

By the third day, her unease became a quiet dread.

She tried calling him, each unanswered ring another needle prick to her growing worry.

She left voicemails, her voice soft but tight, "Harry, call me back, please. I just need to know you're okay."

It had been five days since Sarah last heard from Harry. Her calls went unanswered, and his usual visits to the bakery had stopped. That wasn't like him. He was always easy to reach, always just a message away. The silence gnawed at her, a quiet worry that she couldn't shake.

Rain fell that night, heavy and relentless, drumming against the window as she curled up on the sofa in her small apartment. Her engagement ring glinted in the lamplight, a promise now feeling fragile in the hush of the storm.

Then, a sharp knock split the silence.

Sarah's heart lurched, breath catching in her throat as she scrambled to the door, the floor cold beneath her bare feet.

When she pulled the door open, she staggered back, eyes widening.

Harry stood there, drenched and trembling, rainwater dripping from his hair. His face was bruised, one eye swollen, a cut on his lip, and his usually bright green eyes were shadowed, wild with fear.

"Oh my God, Harry..." Sarah's voice cracked as she reached for him. "What happened?"

He didn't answer. For a moment, he only stared past her, rain pooling around his shoes, breathing ragged and uneven. Then, with a strangled breath, he stumbled forward.

"Come inside!" she urged, stepping aside, guiding him in with shaking hands.

Harry collapsed onto the sofa, soaked clothes clinging to his frame. Water dripped onto the floor, but neither of them cared. Sarah fetched a towel, pressing it gently to his hair, brushing it back from his forehead, feeling the tremble in his body beneath her touch.

"Talk to me," she pleaded, kneeling before him, her eyes searching his face. "Harry, please."

His gaze finally met hers, glassy and bloodshot, and for the first time since she had met him, Sarah saw something fragile, something lost.

"The company I invested in..." His voice broke, raw and hoarse. "It went bankrupt."

Sarah blinked, confusion tightening around her like a vice. "What?"

He looked away, jaw clenching. "The debt collectors... they're after me. I don't know what to do, Sarah. I tried to fix it. I tried to make everything better for us, but I-"

"How much?" she asked softly, bracing herself for the truth.

Harry's shoulders shook as he whispered, "One million dollars."

The words landed like a punch, knocking the air from her lungs. A million dollars. Her mind couldn't wrap around the number, couldn't understand how it was possible, but the terror in Harry's eyes told her it was real.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to remain steady even though part of her wanted to scream. "You have me, Harry," she whispered, her voice trembling but firm.

His gaze faltered, guilt swimming in his dark eyes. His mouth opened as if to argue, but no words came.

She reached up, cupping his face gently, tilting his head until their eyes met. "Money isn't everything. What matters is that we're together. You're my better life."

Harry's eyes filled, tears spilling over as he shook his head. "I'm so sorry. I just wanted to give you a better life. I thought... I thought I could fix everything."

Later that night, after coaxing him into eating a warm meal, Sarah handed him her savings-the small amount she had been setting aside for years, piece by piece, for their future together.

"I can't take this." Harry shook his head, his voice thick with guilt. "I've already ruined everything. I don't want to drag you down too."

She placed the money in his hands, her fingers trembling as they lingered over his. "What if it were me?" she whispered, her voice quiet but insistent. "Wouldn't you help me?"

Harry stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in, guilt pulling him under. Slowly, reluctantly, he nodded. "I'll pay you back. I'll make everything right." His promise was soft, distant, as though even he couldn't fully believe it.

As she treated the cuts and bruises on his face, Harry's gaze lingered on her, his silence more intense than any words.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked softly, dabbing ointment onto a bruise, her hands gentle.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You were the only person I could think of... at a time like this."

She paused, her hand hovering over his cheek for a moment before she continued. "I'm going to be your wife in a week, Harry. If I can help my husband, I should. It's in moments like these that we see who's truly good for us."

He reached up, stopping her hand, his grip firm but tender. His eyes, filled with something unspoken, held hers with an intensity that made her heart skip. He leaned closer, the warmth of his breath brushing her skin. She had felt his kisses before, but this-this was different, heavy with everything they couldn't say.

A single tear slipped down his cheek, and just as their lips almost met, he pulled away, a sharp breath escaping him. Guilt shadowed his face, and the weight of everything unsaid kept him from moving closer.

"I should go," he muttered, his voice strained, his gaze averted.

"Where are you going at this time?" Sarah asked.

"I need to go," he repeated, his voice cracking as if he were fighting back tears. He turned away, his shoulders slumping further under the invisible burden. She held his wrist.

"If we don't have a big hall, or fancy food, or guests, it doesn't matter," she said, her voice soft but steady. "What matters is that we're together. You are with me. That's what matters most."

He paused, the silence between them heavy. His eyes, full of regret, met hers for a brief, fleeting moment, but whatever she was searching for in his face, she couldn't find. Without another word, he walked out into the rain, disappearing into the night.

The next morning, Sarah arrived at the bakery, hoping to distract herself with work, only to find a stranger barring the entrance.

"This is my bakery," she said, confused. "Who are you? How did you get in?"

The man smirked, his expression dripping with disdain. "Mr. Harry sold it to me. Who are you, his secretary?"

Sarah's heart stuttered, her mind scrambling to make sense of his words. "No," she stammered, "this can't be right. I'm a partner here-I invested in this bakery. My signature is required for any sale."

The man's smirk faded, replaced by a cold glare. "Look, lady, I've got the paperwork. If you don't leave, I'll call the police."

She pulled out her phone, her hands shaking. "Let me call Harry," she said, trying to keep the rising panic out of her voice.

But when she dialed his number, the call went straight to voicemail. Her heart sank. He'd promised her everything was going to be fine, but now his phone was off. He was gone.

Determined not to jump to conclusions, Sarah hurried to the theater where Harry had performed. She asked everyone-stagehands, makeup artists, even the janitor-but each answer left her more confused than before.

"He said he's getting married, so he took the time off," one of the makeup artists said, tilting her head.

Another chimed in, "No, no, he told me he's going to the States for a big movie role."

"He's on vacation," someone else shrugged.

A knot twisted in Sarah's chest. Were they lying? Or had Harry been lying to her this whole time?

Her world tilted, reality spinning out of control as Sarah stepped into her small apartment. She froze, her breath catching in her throat. The small safe in the corner-where she had tucked away every last dollar of her savings-was open, its contents emptied.

All of her cash was gone.

She stood there for a long moment, numb, as her mind raced. Only one person knew the password-Harry.

No. He wouldn't...

But the gnawing fear inside her chest told a different story. She tried calling him again, the number going straight to voicemail, the mechanical tone of rejection cold in her ear. The message she left felt hollow, a quiet plea laced with disbelief. He'll come back. He has to.

Days turned into weeks, and still, no word. Sarah went to the police, filing a missing person report, her voice cracking with the hope she clung to-hope that Harry hadn't betrayed her. That something else, something beyond her understanding, had happened.

But deep down, cracks were already forming.

The final blow came when she had no choice but to sell her engagement ring. She hadn't wanted to-it was one of the few things that still tied her to him, to the dream of a future they had imagined together. The jeweler's words hit her like a punch to the gut.

"The diamond's fake."