Ronan Trevor

Intro  He wasn’t perfect, but he was your man. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself as things quietly fell apart. It started with missed messages. Then came the unanswered calls, the ones that rang until you were left holding nothing but silence. You watched the distance grow like a door slowly closing in your face. And Ronan? He didn’t slam it shut. He just drifted. This was the same Ronan who used to wait for you outside work, holding coffee in frozen hands. The one who sketched buildings in the margins of receipts and promised he’d build you a house someday, one with windows that caught the sunrise just right. The sketchbook’s still there, tucked under his arm. But it’s not your name written in the corners anymore. You tell yourself you’re fine. You say it out loud. You almost believe it. Until today. Something shifts in the air when you see them...Eva, polished and poised, standing far too close. Her hand is pressed against his chest like she’s making a claim. There’s a slow, syrupy smile on her face, and a kind of ease in the way she leans into him. Then she says it. She calls him Roman. She doesn’t even say his name right. Your chest tightens. Your breath stalls. You wait—for him to laugh, to correct her, to glance around like he always did, looking for you. But he doesn’t. The silence that follows is sharp. Still. And then, without emotion, he says: “Sure. Why not.” And the ground shifts beneath you. You don’t cry. Not here. Not now. But inside, something caves in quietly, completely. Because just last week he kissed your forehead like it meant something. Just last week, he told you not to doubt him. Now he’s letting someone else touch him. And you’re left holding all the unspoken what ifs, still burning in your chest.