Chapter Text
Tears streamed down her face as she stood there, watching Sam's gummy smile and hear her enchanting laughter, a sound she hadn't heard for so long. She stood there, a mere twelve feet away, completely still, observing the scene unfolding before her. She watched as Sam's nose crinkled when she attempted to stifle her laughter, her eyes radiating happiness. This was the Sam she had longed to see. She couldn’t help but smile through her tears. Sam was the love of her life. How could she not feel elation at the sight of Sam's radiant smile and the twinkle in her eyes?
But the tears kept streaming down her cheeks, occasionally blurring her vision. She observed Sam rising from her seat at the table, extending her hand toward the person seated across from her, drawing them into a passionate kiss, causing her heart to shatter into a million pieces that seemed to scatter to the farthest reaches of the universe. The pain was not just emotional; it was visceral, a physical sensation that gripped her chest. She remained frozen in place, a sudden heaviness in her legs preventing her from turning away. It was painfully clear that Sam had found her happiness in someone else, and the realization stung like a thousand needles piercing her heart. Perhaps, in Sam's eyes, she wasn't capable of filling Sam’s gray world with the vibrant hues of pink.
Finally, she turned around, her destination uncertain, and began to walk aimlessly. Surprisingly, her tears had ceased, replaced by a tumultuous flood of memories featuring her and Sam. She couldn't escape the images of their shared moments, etched vividly in her mind. As she walked, her thoughts were consumed by the painful realization of how Sam's love had gradually faded away. She had been living in denial, refusing to accept the painful truth that Sam had indeed fallen out of love with her. It was a truth she had been dodging, a truth that had haunted her every waking moment. Unbeknownst to her, tears trickled from her eyes once more, following the same path as the dry streaks of tears that had come before.
_
Three weeks ago
After weeks of Sam consistently working late, the opportunity to leave work together and head home was a cherished rarity for Mon. She had often offered to stay with Sam during those long hours, but Sam's insistence that she should go home always prevailed, accompanied by promises of joining her shortly. Thus, this evening's prospect of spending quality time together felt like a long-awaited treat.
As they walked out of the building, Sam carried her handbag in one hand and her phone in the other, wearing a contented expression as she typed away. Mon watched her with a fond smile, appreciating this stolen moment of togetherness. Typically, when they reached the busy road leading to the parking lot, Sam would reach out, firmly clasping Mon's hand, a gesture that not only ensured their safety but also filled Mon's heart with a sense of being cherished and protected.
However, today was different. Sam walking briskly, a couple of steps ahead, and she didn't reach out to hold Mon's hand. This unexpected change took Mon by surprise, and her heart sank as she glanced at Sam, silently hoping that Sam would remember their usual routine.
Mon's steps involuntarily slowed as she navigated the crossing and a growing sense of disconnect between them weighed on her. When they finally arrived at the car, Sam didn't open the door for her as she always had, even on the busiest and most tiring days.
A week ago
"Sam?" Mon's voice echoed through the kitchen.
"Baby, are you home?"
With no reply forthcoming, she wiped her hands on the apron she wore and headed toward the living room, where she suspected Sam might be. There, she found Sam seated on the couch, her head resting against the backrest, her handbag abandoned on the floor near her feet. Sam appeared utterly drained. Mon couldn't help but admire her partner's unwavering dedication to her work at Diversity, which had rapidly become one of the country's fastest-growing companies, largely thanks to Sam's tireless efforts.
Mon had arrived home earlier than usual and was inspired to prepare Sam's favorite dish, Tom Yum Gong soup. She had a thoughtful intention behind this culinary endeavor – to create a special moment for Sam, allowing her to unwind and de-stress after tirelessly working for weeks on end. Mon knew that the past few weeks had been particularly grueling for Sam, and they had scarcely spent any time together. Even when Mon managed to finish her own work early, Sam would send her home and continue working late into the night. Mon had sensed something was wrong, that Sam was using work as an excuse to distance herself. But she had brushed it off, convincing herself that it was just the pressure of work.
Mon took a seat beside Sam and attempted to put her hands around Sam's forehead to give her a soothing massage. But, before she could even begin, Sam abruptly pulled away, her expression turning sour. Mon was taken aback by Sam's sudden rudeness, as she couldn't understand why Sam would react this way.
"Sam, is something bothering you?" Mon asked gently, concern evident in her voice.
S am maintained her distant gaze and brushed off Mon's concern with a dismissive wave.
“Just work" she replied curtly.
Mon regarded Sam for a moment, her worry deepening, and then nodded slowly. "Is there anything I can do to help you through this, Sam?"
"You can't," Sam replied plainly, her tone still devoid of warmth. Mon felt a pang of hurt at the bluntness, but she pushed her own emotions aside and focused on Sam.
"Please, talk to me, baby," Mon implored her voice soft and tender.
Frustration etched deeper lines on Sam's face. She parted her lips, as if about to speak, but then hesitated, her eyes remaining devoid of any emotion. Mon's concerned gaze remained fixed on her as Sam pushed herself up from the couch. Without looking at Mon, Sam muttered while heading towards their shared bedroom.
"It's nothing, Mon."
Mon couldn't help but notice the change in the way Sam called her name. It was different from before, colder, and it sent a painful lump forming in her throat. She watched in silence as Sam left her side, her footsteps echoing on the stairs as she retreated further away.
With her mind wandering in distant realms, she mechanically resumed preparing dinner, her focus more on the turmoil within her than on the ingredients before her. A flood of thoughts cascaded through her consciousness, like a swirling whirlpool of introspection. Among them, the persistent question of whether her own actions might have played a role in distancing Sam haunted her. Had she inadvertently pushed her away with her behavior or words?
After setting the table, she made her way to the bedroom, her footsteps echoing her uncertainty. The thought of telling Sam that dinner was ready filled her with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. Hoping to bridge the emotional gap between them, she had prepared Sam's favorite meal, a small act of love and care she hoped would bring comfort and maybe even a hint of a smile to Sam's lips or a twinkle in her eye.
Mon cautiously entered the bedroom and discovered Sam, dressed in her nightgown, deeply engrossed in her laptop, her back comfortably resting against the bed's headboard. Sam's attention seemed entirely occupied by her screen, and she offered only a faint, almost inaudible hum in response to Mon's presence.
"Sam," Mon said softly, her voice carrying a note of hope, "dinner is ready. I made your favorite. Come."
However, Mon couldn't shake the feeling that Sam might not be receptive to her suggestion. Sam's demeanor and absorbed gaze on the laptop screen were strong indicators that her interest laid far from dinner and Mon's intentions.
"I already ate with the client," Sam replied without shifting her gaze or acknowledging Mon's presence. Her tone remained distant, her eyes firmly fixed on the computer screen. It was clear that whatever occupied Sam's mind was a world apart from the meal Mon had prepared.
Mon's heart sank at Sam's rejection for dinner. It felt like another layer of distance between them, a rejection of her attempt to connect and comfort. Sam usually informed her whenever she had plans for dinner, whether it was with clients, friends, or even her grandmother. However, this time, Sam hadn't bothered to let Mon know about her dinner plans with the client.
Mon felt the need to address this issue, but she wanted to do it in a way that conveyed her concerns without casting any accusations or blame.
As she stood in the doorway, Mon carefully chose her words, her tone soft and non-confrontational.
"Hey, Sam, you usually give me a heads-up when you're having dinner with clients or friends, and I love that about you. But tonight, I didn't know you had dinner plans. Was it a last-minute thing, babe?" Mon asked with a warm, affectionate tone, wanting to keep the conversation light and intimate.
Sam looked up briefly from her laptop, a hint of weariness in her expression. "Mon, don't read too much into it. It was just a last-minute thing. No big deal. Don’t dwell on it," she replied.
Mon, feeling hurt and frustrated, couldn't help but press the matter gently. "I understand it's last-minute, Sam, but I just want us to be on the same page, you know? It's not about making a big deal out of it, but I like knowing what's going on with you. It makes me feel closer to you."
Sam clearly frustrated and not in the mood for a discussion, snapped, "Mon, why are you always so sensitive about these things? It's exhausting. Can't you just let it go for once?"
Mon, holding back tears but determined to express her feelings, replied, "I'm not trying to be sensitive or make a big deal out of it. I just want us to be open with each other. That's what we used to do."
Mon felt deeply hurt and confused. She stood by the doorway, clutching it tightly for support, and finally found the courage to speak up. "Sam, did I do something wrong?" Her voice trembled with emotion.
Sam, still visibly irritated, turned to face Mon with a harsh tone. "Honestly, Mon, sometimes you make everything about you. Can't you see I had a long day? I don't need this right now."
Mon's tears escaped her eyes, her voice shaky as she tried to explain, "I'm not trying to make it about me, Sam. I just want to know what's going on between us. I care about you, and when you shut me out like this, it hurts."
"Maybe you care too much, Mon. Sometimes it's suffocating."
Mon's heart ached as the harsh words pierced through her. She could no longer hold back her tears, letting them fall freely. She turned away and began to sob quietly.
At night, in bed, Sam remained distant. She lay on her side, facing away from Mon, and there was an invisible wall between them. Lying in the dimly lit room beside Sam, Mon's mind drifted back to the evening's tumultuous events. She couldn't help but reflect on how Sam had once followed her around like a devoted puppy, always there to mend any rift between them, even kneeling down for forgiveness when things went awry.
That night, the absence of Sam's comforting embrace left Mon feeling achingly lonely. She longed for the way Sam used to hold her close, enveloping her in those strong, protective arms, and tucking Mon's head beneath her chin. Sam's whispered sweet words used to be like a soothing lullaby that eased her into sleep. But now, it felt like they were two distant planets, no longer orbiting each other in harmony.
Mon's thoughts spiraled into a whirlwind of doubt and insecurity. She couldn't help but wonder if Sam had grown tired of her, if Sam had come to the conclusion that she wasn't worth the effort after all. A heartbreaking question gnawed at her: "Does she still love me?"
Tears welled up in Mon's eyes as she turned away from Sam's sleeping form. She silently wept, overwhelmed by the fear of losing the love she cherished so deeply.
Sam's phone emitted a sharp ping, and Mon sensed her partner's subtle shift, signaling that sleep had eluded her. Sam fumbled for her phone in the darkness, pulling the covers up to her head as she began to respond to the message from someone who seemed to take precedence over rest. Mon, with tears in her eyes and feeling a pang of jealousy, turned to face Sam's back. Her heart ached with the knowledge that someone else had Sam's undivided attention at this moment.
Mon reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing Sam's arm, “Cham Cham?”
But Sam didn't respond.
Earlier that morning
Sam stood beneath the warm spray of the shower, lost in her morning ritual. Meanwhile, Mon lay in bed, her thoughts consumed by Sam, her Sam. Mon couldn't help but reminisce about the days when Sam would envelop her in a warm embrace each morning, peppering her face with sweet kisses and playfully protesting the idea of leaving the comfort of their bed. But now, Sam had arisen without checking if Mon was awake or still lost in slumber, proceeding with her daily routine as if Mon's presence didn't matter.
Tears welled up in Mon's eyes, a familiar occurrence in recent times. She often found herself shedding tears without even realizing it, the pain and sadness gradually overwhelming her until it became difficult to catch her breath.
_
The cold wind stung her face as she suddenly became aware of her surroundings. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving behind the last traces of daylight painting the sky in soft hues. She found herself seated on a bench near the entrance of a café or library; she couldn’t be certain, her face marked with tear streaks. Her gaze remained fixated on the ground before her, and her lips were pressed tightly together.
She wrapped her arms around herself, seeking solace in the hope of warmth, yet finding none. It was as if the frigid winds had singled her out, making everything around her feel cold. As she rose to her feet, she cast a fleeting glance at her wristwatch, prompting her to begin the journey back home. But when she thought of home, a sudden uncertainty halted her in her tracks. What, she pondered, was she really referring to as home? For the past three years, she had shared her life with Sam in Sam's house.
Throughout their relationship, she had frequently come to understand that home didn't truly feel like home unless Sam was there with her. Those moments when she had returned home ahead of Sam, leaving her immersed in CEO duties, were especially telling. In those instances, she had found herself restlessly glancing at their front door every five minutes, yearning for the moment when she would finally experience that unmistakable sensation of being home. It was not just about the physical space; it was about the warmth, comfort, and sense of belonging that only Sam could provide. Home, for her, was wherever Sam was.
Unaware, tears streamed down her chin, a silent testament to the depths of her sorrow. She pressed on with her journey, her steps steady despite the relentless ache in her heart. Whenever the need arose, she reached up to her face and used the sleeve of her pink fleece hoodie to dab away the tears.
_
After standing at the main gate of Sam's house for what felt like an eternity, Mon's heart finally compelled her to take action. Sam's Porsche was parked in the garage, a clear sign that she was home. The entire evening had been a blur of tears, her cheeks tear stained, her eyes bloodshot, as she grappled with the profound betrayal that had unfolded before her eyes.
Numb with pain, Mon mustered the strength to enter the house. She understood that this might be the last time she would step through that door, the last chance to gather her belongings, and perhaps, the last opportunity to share a final moment with Sam—a hug, a glance, maybe a word of truth. She knew she had to, so she did.