Chapter 95

• Haven sat alone in his unassuming living room, the soft murmur of the ceiling fan scarcely discernible over the unfaltering drone of his considerations. The air felt overwhelming, weighted with recollections that appeared to rise up from the floorboards like phantoms from the past. His fingers followed the edge of the purge bourbon glass in his hand, but the burn of liquor couldn’t chase away the turmoil brewing inside.
• His mind kept meandering to that minute, to her words, the ultimate cut bend that had separated their association. “You deserve to know the truth, Haven,” she had said, her voice sharp, not from outrage but from a cold, calculating resolve. “I never loved you the way I ought to have. Matthew... he’s everything you’re not. I can’t pretend anymore.”
• The words had fallen like stones, their weight still waiting in the quiet of the purge house. He had observed her walk out the door, not just physically, but in each passionate and mental way that mattered long before.