I wasn't looking for her.
I was searching for comfort.
A reason.
Maybe a lie I could survive.
But instead…
I found her.
Not the whole of her—just enough to ruin everything.
---
It was in the closet.
His old flannel shirt — the one he wore the day he held me like I was worth something more than survival.
It still smelled like him.
Salt.
Warmth.
That quiet ache you only get when a man loves you louder in silence than in words.
But when I pulled it to my chest—
I felt something scratch my skin.
---
At first, I thought it was just a thread.
Then I looked closer.
It was a hair.
Not mine.
Longer.
Reddish-gold.
Wrapped in the collar like it belonged there.
And I just…
froze.
---
Isla, do you know what heartbreak sounds like?
It's not a sob.
It's not even silence.
It's that split-second when your hands shake
and your brain starts building new realities
to keep you from falling through the floor.
---
> "Maybe it's old."
> "Maybe it was just a friend."
> "Maybe he wore her shirt by mistake."
But none of those lies worked.
Because I'd already seen the second toothbrush.
Already heard the half-voicemail that ended with her breath
right before the call disconnected.
Already tasted her in the coffee he made different
the morning he started stirring in clockwise circles instead of his usual figure-eight.
---
She had been here.
Not like a guest.
Like a ghost with keys to every locked part of him.
And worse?
He let her.
---
I put the shirt back.
Not because I forgave him.
But because it hurt more to hold it.
It felt like hugging a man who died smiling in another woman's arms.
---
I showered with the lights off.
Because when grief turns violent,
your reflection becomes a crime scene.
And I wasn't ready to stare at a face
still wearing the perfume of a man
who whispered another woman's name into her hair while pretending it was mine.
---
Later that night…
I woke up to a sound.
Low.
Rhythmic.
Breathing.
But it wasn't mine.
And it wasn't coming from beside me.
It was coming from the closet.
Where his shirt still hung —
and the scent of her shampoo had started to grow stronger
than anything he ever left behind.