He sits on the floor before the tall windows of his penthouse apartment as he waits. He breathes the sugarless scent of his black coffee and sips on his cup. Its bitter taste burns his throat, reminding him of his own situation. He watches the clock’s hands move and counts the hours before her return.
But the afternoon ends and the midnight comes; still, the door does not open. He glances at the door and imagines it creaks. He bolts to his feet, but the door hasn’t moved at all.
In his living room, he notices the blank picture frames. His chest tightens as he recalls the wedding photos. It must have gone missing or someone must have ripped it. Or burned it. Or anything.
He looks at the time and it’s past two. He rests his body on the floor beside the windows and gazes at the thousand tiny city lights below. He thinks of a goodnight sleep as he closes his eyes, but his body trembles and he begins to cry.
WORD COUNT: 173
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