The words echoed in the warm coastal breeze long after Susan had turned away and walked back toward the hotel lobby. I sat alone under the bright afternoon sun with my phone still clutched tightly in my hand.
The digital screen displayed the final photograph of the two of us smiling side by side. Her expression looked completely normal at a glance, yet her chilling declaration lingered heavily in the air.
I tried to convince myself that she was merely playing a bizarre psychological prank to shake me out of my grief. After all, losing Michael had left me emotionally fragile and vulnerable to dark thoughts.
I packed my beach bag with trembling fingers and headed back to the room we were sharing. Susan was unusually quiet while we packed our suitcases for the journey home the following morning.
She avoided my gaze completely and kept her distance until we finally checked out of the resort. The drive back to our hometown was filled with an unbearable, suffocating silence that neither of us dared to break.
When we finally pulled into my driveway, I expected Susan to say goodbye and head to her own apartment across town. Instead, she unbuckled her seatbelt and quietly followed me up the front porch steps.
