Lena
Lena parked her car in the driveway of what had once been her home. The house felt foreign now, like a
stranger’s life frozen in time. She st epped out into the crisp air, straightening her coat and clutching her bag
tightly as she made her way to the front door. The realtor was already waiting on the porch. “Morning, Lena,”
Marcy greeted, offering a professional smile. “Are you ready to show me around?” “As ready as I’ll ever be,”
Lena r eplied, unlocking the door and pushing it open. The familiar scent of the house hit her immediately, a mix
of old wood and something faintly citrusy. It twisted something de ep in her chest, but she pushed the feeling
aside, st epping inside and gesturing for Marcy to follow. The main floor was simple enough. Lena walked
Marcy through the living room, the kitchen, and the dining area, pointing out the features they’d once loved.
“The hardwood floors are original,” she explained. “David refinished them himself when we moved in.” She
winced inwardly at the mention of his name but k ept her tone even. Marcy nodded, taking notes. “They’re
beautiful. Buyers will love that.” They moved upstairs, and Lena’s st eps grew heavier with each one. The
second floor had always been her favorite part of the house—the quiet
refuge at the end of long days. But now, the memories felt oppressive, and the air seemed colder. When they
reached the hallway, Lena hesitated outside the first door. “This is the spare room,” she said, pushing it open.
Her words caught in her throat as she st epped inside. The room had been neatly furnished once, used
occasionally for guests or overflow storage. But now, it looked lived in—David’s things were scattered across
the bed and floor. A stack of his books sat on the nightstand, and a duffel bag lay half-zipped in the corner.
Marcy raised a brow but said nothing, her pen poised as she glanced around the room. “He’s... been staying
here,” Lena said stiffly, her voice colder than she’d intended. She turned on her heel, st epping out of the room
quickly and shutting the door behind her. “Let’s move on.” Marcy followed, her expression neutral. Lena
showed her the bathroom and the small office, her nerves tightening with each st ep that brought them closer to
the master bedroom. She’d been avoiding this moment, even as she knew it was inevitable. “This is the last
room,” Lena said, her voice quiet as they reached the door at the end of the hall. Her hand hovered over the
doorknob for a moment before she forced herself to turn it. The door creaked open, and the sight that greeted
them stopped both women in their tracks. The bed—the bed where Lena had caught David and Natalia—was
unrecognizable. The mattress was slashed in several places, the stuffing spilling out like a gutted animal. The
headboard was shattered, jagged splinters of wood sticking out at odd angles. Even the frame looked like it had
been kicked in, the metal bent and twisted.
Marcy gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my god...” Lena’s breath caught, her chest tightening
as her mind struggled to process the destruction. She hadn’t been here since that night, hadn’t wanted to set foot
in this room again. And now, seeing it like this, a fresh wave of nausea rolled over her. She knew immediately
who had done it. David. “It wasn’t like this before,” Lena said, her voice trembling slightly. Her fingers curled
into fists at her sides, anger and disbelief warring inside her. “I... I have no idea what he was thinking.” Marcy
composed herself quickly, though her eyes were wide. “This... well, this is going to complicate staging,” she
said carefully, glancing at Lena for a cue on how to proceed. Lena let out a shaky breath, forcing herself to
stand taller. “We’ll get it removed,” she said, her voice steadier now, though her hands were still trembling.
“This doesn’t change anything. The house will still go on the market.” Marcy nodded, clearly trying to remain
professional. “Of course. I’ll note it down, and we can arrange for removal and a new bed to be brought in.”
Lena turned and walked out of the room, not trusting herself to stay any longer. Her mind raced as she led
Marcy back downstairs. What had David been thinking? Was this some warped attempt at r epentance? At
punishment? Or had he simply been unable to face the memories he’d created in that room? She didn’t know,
and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. All she knew was that this house, this chapter of her life, was tainted beyond
r epair. And she couldn’t get rid of it fast enough.
* * *
Lena sat on her hotel mattress, her knees tucked under her as she stared at her laptop. She’d been trying to
review her itinerary for Italy, to focus on the trip she’d been telling herself would mark a fresh start. But the
image of the destroyed bed wouldn’t leave her mind. It clung to her, vivid and raw, the jagged slashes and
splintered wood playing on a loop every time she closed her eyes. She’d always avoided thinking about that
room—the site of her de epest humiliation and betrayal. After that night, she’d told herself she’d never set foot
in it again, never let herself relive the pain of walking in on David and Natalia. But today, standing there, seeing
what David had done to the bed—it was as if the room itself had been screaming its truths, refusing to let her
es cape. Her chest tightened as her thoughts spiraled. Why did he destroy it? she wondered. Was it guilt? Anger?
Some kind of self-punishment for what he’d done? Or was it something more pathetic—a childish attempt to
erase what had happened, as though splintering the bed would somehow splinter her memories of it? She
pressed her fingers to her temples, her breathing uneven. Part of her wanted to be furious at him, to call and
demand an explanation. But another part—the quieter, more vulnerable part—couldn’t bear to hear his voice.
Couldn’t bear to hear him try to justify or explain something that felt so senseless. Her mind flitted back to his
face during their last mediation session. The weariness in his eyes, the way his shoulders had slumped when
she’d refused his suggestion to ke ep the house. She’d thought then that he understood the magnitude of what
he’d done, that he was finally facing the consequences of his betrayal. But now, seeing the destruction he’d
wrought on that bed, she wasn’t so sure. Was he unraveling? Or was this just another way for him to make her
pain about him? She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “As if he hasn’t done enough already,” she
muttered to herself.
And yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t stop r eplaying the image of that room in her mind—the
chaos, the violence of it. It was as if the bed had become a symbol of everything that had gone wrong, every
piece of her life that had been ripped apart and left in ruins. Lena stood and walked to the window, staring out at
the glowing city below. Her reflection in the glass looked as haunted as she felt, her face pale, her eyes hollow.
She hated that this one act—this one destroyed bed— could still make her feel so unmoored. But it wasn’t just
the bed. It was everything it r epresented. The love she’d believed in, the trust she’d cherished, the life she’d
built with David—it had all been shattered, just like the wood and fabric he’d torn apart. She pressed her
forehead to the cool glass, closing her eyes as she tried to steady her thoughts. The bed didn’t matter, she told
herself. It was just furniture. A thing to be r eplaced. But the pit in her stomach told her otherwise. It wasn’t
about the bed—it was about the scars it had left behind, the ones she was still struggling to heal. With a shaky
breath, she straightened, brushing a hand through her hair. Maybe she’d never fully understand why David had
done what he did. Maybe she didn’t need to. But she couldn’t let herself dwell on it—not tonight, not anymore.
She had a new life to build, a future to claim, and Italy was waiting for her. Still, as she crawled into the stiff
hotel bed, pulling the covers tightly around her, the image lingered at the edges of her mind. The ruined bed.
The ruined room. The ruins of what once was.