Saying My Final Farewell to Him

"This tie is something he's always wanted, just a little reward for him," Lyra said.

She stood outside our apartment, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. Her eyes bright with anticipation as she inserted the key into the lock, imagining the surprise on my face.

But the door wouldn't budge. Frowning, she jiggled the key, twisting it again. Nothing.

Her smile faded. "Finley?" she called, her voice uncertain as she knocked.

After a moment, the door creaked open and Lyra straightened, still holding the carefully wrapped gift box. Her lips curved in a smile, ready to surprise me, but the scene before her stopped her cold.

Inside, a burly man with a grizzled face and a rough appearance leaned casually against the door frame, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He looked her over with mild disinterest, taking a drag and blowing the smoke lazily.

"Who are you?" he asked, his tone rough.

Lyra's smile vanished, her face tightening as she looked around. "Who am I? Who are you? This is my home. Where's Finley?" Her heart pounded as she scanned the familiar walls, hoping to spot something, anything, that belonged to her.

The man raised an eyebrow, chuckling darkly. "Hey, young lady, what are you doing trying to break into a private residence? This is my new apartment. You must be looking for the previous owner." He shook his head, his tone mocking. "He sold this place. Didn't you know?"

The words hit her like a slap and she stumbled back. She looked at the man, her disbelief clear, then back at the apartment, at every familiar corner and shadow. Eight years she had lived here with me; they had painted these walls, picked out the furniture together. The very air felt like it should belong to her.

"No," she said, her voice barely a whisper, shaking her head in stunned disbelief. "That's impossible! Just two weeks ago, I was living here. This is my home with my husband. We've been here for eight years!"

She tried to step forward, desperate to prove this was still her home, but the man stepped in front of her, his body blocking her path. He gave her a hard shove, nearly knocking her off her feet.

"Listen," he said with a scoff, "Look at you, all dressed up—don't you look like you could afford a place? The previous owner decided to leave and sold it. Since you say you're his wife, shouldn't you have known? Or are you here trying to scam us? Better leave quickly!"

With a final sneer, he shut the door in her face, the sound echoing down the empty hallway.

Lyra was left standing there, staring blankly at the closed door, her mind spinning. She clutched the gift box with the tie, her fingers shaking.

"Finley," she whispered, her voice cracking. "What is going on?"

Desperation clawed at her and she fumbled with her phone, trying to call me. The call went straight to voicemail. Her hands trembled as she opened her messaging app, typing out a quick message only for a red exclamation mark to flash on her screen, signaling that her message had been blocked.

Her face drained of color, her voice rising in panic as she whispered to herself, "He blocked me? Finley, you promised we'd do one more round of IVF. What do you mean by blocking me out of nowhere?"

She stood in the hallway, her breaths coming fast and shallow as she realized something was terribly wrong. She dialed my workplace, hoping for answers, pressing her phone to her ear as her heart thudded in her chest.

"Hello?" she said, her voice tight. "This is Finley's wife. He's blocked me and I urgently need to reach him. Let me talk to him!"

There was a pause before the voice on the other end responded, laced with a hint of sarcasm. "Finley quit last week. He took all his stuff with him. Didn't you know?"