Shattered Bonds
The days that followed were hollow.
Mark stopped answering texts. Clara moved out of the apartment they once shared, the silence between them speaking louder than any fight could have. Ethan, now isolated, wandered through his days with a weight he couldn't shake, haunted by the sound of Mark's voice—raw, broken, final.
Their friend group noticed the shift immediately. Plans were canceled. Messages were left unread. Rumors spread quietly. No one asked questions out loud, but they didn't need to. The absence was explanation enough.
Ethan avoided places he once loved. The coffee shop near Mark's apartment. The corner bar where they all used to laugh until closing. Even his own home felt unfamiliar, tainted by memory.
Every time he looked in the mirror, he saw not just guilt, but the absence of who he used to be. He missed Mark's voice more than he could admit—their shared jokes, their easy silences, the kind of friendship that felt like family. It was gone now, scorched to nothing by a moment of weakness.
Clara had gone silent too. After the confrontation, she retreated into her own version of penance, avoiding both men, avoiding herself. She left no trace, just a text Ethan never responded to: "I'm sorry. I never wanted to destroy everything."
But they had.
What once felt solid was now ashes. The bond between Ethan and Mark, the trust that had defined so much of their lives, was beyond repair. Ethan lived in the aftermath, where apologies meant little and memory was a curse.
And still, every night, he wondered: if he could go back… would he stop it?
Or had some part of him always wanted to cross that line?