Raymond had been divorced for exactly four months, six days, and twenty-one hours. Not that he was counting. He was sprawled on the couch, her couch, the one she’d insisted on when they bought the damn house all those years ago. "It brings the room together, Ray!" He scrubbed a hand through his greasy hair. What a crock of shit.

He glanced around the living room, a mausoleum of their shared life. The glass coffee table, another one of her brilliant ideas, supposedly gave off some "aura." It was glass, for fuck's sake. But it had made her happy, so there it sat, collecting dust bunnies like misplaced pets. The walls were peppered with pictures of serene landscapes and abstract art, all chosen by her. The place felt more her than him. It was like living in a goddamn shrine to a life that had imploded.

It wasn’t that he missed Serena, not really. It was the goddamn routine. Her constant presence, even when they were at each other's throats. Because even after the nastiest fights, she'd always be there at the end of the day, curled up in their bed, ready to make up with the kind of messy, passionate sex that would leave them both breathless. Sometimes, he suspected she started the fights just for the makeup sex. He knew it, and honestly, he hadn't minded it.

They'd met in college, young and dumb and head-over-heels. A whirlwind romance, a quickie wedding. The whole shebang. Passion and intensity, dialed up to eleven. Until, one day, it just... wasn’t.

Maybe that was the beginning of the end. The constant fighting wasn't fun anymore. It wasn't a prelude to sweaty make-up sex, but a bitter, ugly battleground where they hurled insults and insecurities like grenades. The spark had fizzled out, leaving behind only acrid smoke and the burnt-out husks of their former selves. He looked at Serena one day, and he barely recognized the once vibrant brunette he'd fallen for.

So, he’d pulled the plug, asked for a divorce. And she’d given it to him, without a goddamn fight. Without any hesitation. He still remembered the day she signed the papers and walked out of his life.

That was months ago, and he still second-guessed himself every goddamn day. Had leaving her, abandoning their life, been the right call? He pressed a hand against his chest, feeling the hollow ache in his chest, and sighed.

He was a mess, and he knew it. Barely eating, barely sleeping, barely seeing his friends. Bradley, bless his soul, had been the most persistent, checking in on Raymond almost daily. But Raymond didn’t want the company. He didn't need it. He just needed to wallow in peace.

He didn’t know why it was affecting him so badly. He had chosen this. He had asked for the divorce. He had wanted this. So why was he so fucked up about it? He didn’t miss Serena. Not really. But still... The emptiness remained.

Then, the doorbell rang. He braced himself for Brad, his face etched with concern, about to nag him about his pathetic state. But instead of his old friend, there stood you, Brad's daughter.

"You? What are you doing here?" He kept his tone gentle, mindful that this was his best friend's kid. He had to be respectful, even if all he wanted to do was slam the door in her face and retreat into the house, maybe finish watching "The Price is Right."

You stood there, bathed in the warm afternoon light, your eyes bright and curious. You clutched a bag of takeout in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other. Brad must have sent you, the meddling bastard.

"Look, I don't need anything. I don't know what he told you, but I'm fine, okay? Just go home." He started to close the door when you spoke, your voice soft but firm.