#af19

In the beginning, Adam made her feel like she was the center of his universe.

Every morning started with a kiss on her cheek before practice, every night ended with his arms wrapped around her, murmuring sleepy promises against her skin — promises about forever, about how no matter what city, what team, what chaos, she’d always be home to him.

He gave her a silver promise ring on their first anniversary — nothing flashy, just simple and steady, like the two of them. “Until I can give you the real thing,” he’d said, sliding it onto her finger with that boyish grin that melted her. “You’re it for me, Ari.”

Back then, she believed him.

He used to call her between flights, send blurry selfies from locker rooms, surprise her with flowers for no reason. If he was stressed, he’d bury his face in her neck, mumbling how she made everything feel manageable. He used to need her.

Now, he barely noticed her.

It happened slowly — like a crack forming under ice.

First, he started staying later at practice. Then it was film sessions. Then “team bonding nights” that she wasn’t invited to. He stopped reaching for her hand when they walked together, stopped kissing her goodbye before he left in the morning.

She told herself he was just tired. That the pressure of the league was heavy. That once the season settled, he’d come back to her.

But the truth was, he already hadn’t been hers for a while.

The bed felt bigger. The dinners quieter. The silences longer.

And every time she tried — to talk, to touch, to reach him — he’d pull away with the same clipped response: “I don’t have time for this, Ariana.”

He used to be clingy, couldn’t go a day without hugging her, teasing her, needing her near. Now she could wear the prettiest dress, sit beside him in lace and silk, and he wouldn’t even look up from his phone.

She laughed once, bitter and small, thinking maybe he’d already forgotten what the promise ring on her finger meant.

One night, sitting alone on their couch, she turned on the Blue Jackets game out of habit. Adam skated across the screen — confident, fierce, every movement sharp with purpose. The crowd roared when he scored, and her chest swelled the way it always did… until she realized something awful.

He looked happiest there. Not at home. Not with her.

That used to be their thing — celebrating his wins together. Now, he didn’t even text her after games.

She stared at the TV, her heart thudding slow and hollow. And for the first time, the thought hit her with clarity so sharp it made her breath catch —

He doesn’t love me anymore.

The realization was quiet, but it felt like something in her cracked.

So she stood up.

No tears, no screaming. Just movement. She walked to their bedroom, pulled out her suitcase, and began to pack. Drawer by drawer, hanger by hanger, she folded away the life they’d built together — the hoodies she’d stolen, the Polaroids taped to the mirror, the stupid mug he’d bought her that said Hockey Girlfriend Energy.

When she was done, she went to the kitchen table and sat down with a blank sheet of paper. The pen shook in her hand.

Adam,

I think you stopped loving me a long time ago, and I just didn’t want to admit it. I kept waiting for the version of you who used to laugh with me, who’d call me after games just to hear my voice. But I think that boy’s gone.

You said hockey was your dream, and I meant it when I told you I’d support you. I’m proud of you, Adam. I always have been. But lately, I’ve realized I’m not a part of that dream anymore. You don’t talk to me. You don’t touch me. You don’t even see me.

I can’t keep waiting for someone who’s already gone.

So I’m leaving this behind — not because I stopped loving you, but because I still do. And loving you like this is destroying me.

I hope someday you find what you’re chasing. I just wish it still included me.

— Ari

She set the letter on the counter beside her promise ring. It caught the light — small, silver, and heartbreakingly familiar. She hesitated, thumb tracing the band one last time, then placed it gently on top of the folded paper.

It felt like closing a chapter.

When she left, she didn’t look back. She just slipped her keys into her hand, walked down the hallway, and out into the cold night air.

The drive to Michigan was silent. No music, no tears. Just the sound of her own breathing and the hum of the tires beneath her.

By the time Adam got home later that night, everything felt wrong. Too still. Too empty.

He dropped his keys by the door, called out, “Ari?”

Nothing.

He glanced around — the couch was bare, her shoes gone, the faint smell of her perfume fading into the air.

Then he saw it. The letter. The ring.

For a long time, he just stood there staring, as if his brain refused to connect the dots. Then, slowly, he reached for the paper.

By the time he finished reading, his hands were shaking.

The promise ring gleamed softly beside the note, and his throat tightened until it hurt to breathe.

He thought of all the times she’d begged for his attention — her small voice saying, “I miss you.” The way she smiled through disappointment, waiting for him to notice her again.

He’d told himself hockey was his purpose. That she’d understand.

But she had — right up until she couldn’t anymore.

The apartment felt colder that night. Quieter.

Adam sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands, the letter open in front of him and the promise ring pressed into his palm.

He finally understood what it meant to lose something that had once been certain.

And this time, there was no one waiting for him to come home.

an/ only posted this cause it’s angst and Adam doesn’t get a happy ending

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