THE LAST GOODBYE.

The rain mirrored the tears blurring my vision. Across the street, the flickering neon sign of the all-night diner cast a lurid glow on the damp pavement – a fitting backdrop to the scene unfolding. Liam, my Liam, was packing his things into cardboard boxes, his movements precise and devoid of emotion, like a surgeon performing a necessary, if brutal, operation. We hadn’t spoken in hours, the silence punctuated only by the rhythmic thud of boxes hitting the floor and the relentless drumming of the rain against the windowpane. The air hung thick with unspoken words, with the ghost of. He glanced up, his eyes – usually sparkling with mischief – now dull and tired. He didn’t meet my gaze, instead focusing on the task at hand. “I’ve got everything,” he mumbled, his voice barely a whisper above the storm raging outside. The words hung in the air, heavy and final. “Everything?” I asked, my voice trembling. The question wasn’t about the boxes, but about the years we’d spent together, the life we’d built.