My Boyfriend Ron

The Loss

I forced myself to regain control over my emotions before I could lash out at him the way he had grabbed me—his grip was strong, almost desperate. I met his gaze, my voice cold and steady as I said, "Whatever was between us, it's over. I don't want to create a scene here. Adam is here, and today, of all days, Kooni’s mother has died. We’re taking her to say her final goodbye. So, please, just stop your nonsense."

His eyes bore into mine, a mix of anger and something else—regret, maybe?—but he remained silent. I felt his stare like a weight on my chest, but I pushed him back, hard, creating a distance between us. My hands tightened around the handles of my bags, my heart pounding with a mix of anger and sadness. How dare he come back now, after all this time, and stir up all this drama? I was furious that he had the audacity to show up and pretend as if everything hadn't been shattered long ago.

As I reached the door, a sudden urge made me stop and look back. He was still standing there, watching me with those intense eyes, as if waiting for something, anything, to change. I met his gaze one last time and said, with finality in my voice, "You were the one who ended everything and walked away. Not me." And with that, I slammed the door behind me, the sound echoing in the hallway like the final nail in the coffin of whatever we once had.

I walked briskly to the car, where Kooni sat, her face pale and tear-streaked, her body slumped against the seat. She was lost in her grief, quietly sobbing for her mother, barely noticing my presence as I climbed in pasanger seat. The air in the car was thick with sorrow, and I could feel the weight of Kooni's loss pressing down on all of us.

Adam and George followed shortly after, carrying Kooni's and George’s belongings, their movements slow and deliberate as if they too were burdened by the heavy atmosphere. Adam paused for a moment, turning to glance back at the house. Albert had emerged, standing in the doorway, his face unreadable. Adam called out, his voice louder than usual, "Are you coming or not?"

Albert responded from where he stood, his voice distant and detached, "I'll follow in my own car."

George waved a brief goodbye to Albert, then slid into the backseat beside Connie, wrapping his arms around her trembling form. She leaned into him, but her eyes remained distant, fixed on something far beyond the confines of the car.

Adam climbed into the driver’s seat, his usual lighthearted demeanor replaced by a heavy silence. There was no need to ask if we were ready to leave—the answer was written in the lines of our faces, in the way we moved and breathed. The car’s engine rumbled to life, but before we pulled away, I couldn’t help but ask, "Did you lock the doors?"

Adam’s response was automatic, almost absent-minded. "Albert will lock them. He’ll come straight to Kooni's house. The morning caretaker will handle the rest."

And with that, we drove off, the world outside passing by in a blur. Inside the car, the silence was deafening, each of us lost in our own thoughts, each bearing the weight of our own grief, regrets, and unspoken words. The road stretched ahead of us, but it felt like we were moving through a thick fog, every mile heavier than the last, every breath more difficult to take.

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As we drove through the winding streets, the atmosphere in the car grew even more suffocating. The weight of what awaited us at Kooni’s house loomed over us, an invisible force pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. I glanced at Kooni, who hadn’t said a word since we left. She sat rigidly, her eyes fixed on the road ahead, but I could see the turmoil swirling behind her gaze. Her hands clenched tightly in her lap, knuckles white, as if holding onto something only she could see.

George’s arm remained wrapped around her, but his expression was unreadable. His jaw was set, his eyes dark with concern, but he didn’t speak either. Adam kept his eyes on the road, but his hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were pale. I could sense his unease in the way he kept glancing at Kooni through the rearview mirror, his lips pressed into a thin line.