Haunted Pt. 3

I can’t do this anymore Ricky, you’ve gone too far, and honestly if you want to know the truth you’ve ruined my damn life. I hope we never have to see each other again. This is goodbye, and for good. –Julya

She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door. Henry came home a few hours later, sweaty and tired from the car shop. As he called out Julya’s name, he heard no response.

Finally, he decided to check the kitchen and saw a small cloth-bound notebook. It was covered in lace, fringe, and a single flower right beside the title: My Diary

He looked around at the empty house, seemingly void of everything except the sound of crickets and the humid summer night air. After curiosity got a hold of him, he flipped through the first beginning pages.

All of them began with, “My dearest Ricky”. And after reading some of the first few pages, it wasn’t difficult to see what the relationship was with “Ricky”. Henry wanted to believe at first that it wasn’t Julya writing these love notes, or love book rather, but when he looked at the bottom of each page, it was signed with her fluttery cursive signature. His mind tried to accept what his gut already knew.

Despite the pain, he continued to read on about how his Julya was in love with this Ricky guy. How they met every day when Henry was at work. How they went to all the diners. How they kissed in all the parks. How they did every damn thing Henry and Julya did first. But, Ricky gave her everything Henry could never afford. Boat rides, fancy dinners, fabulous dresses. Resentment filled Henry, not towards Ricky or Julya, but towards himself. How could he have spent all those long nights at his shop, how dare he not give his girl the attention she deserved.

Tears wouldn’t stop streaming down his face, and even more so when he found out how Ricky ended up treating her. Leaving her for a girl in New Orleans, with wedding arrangements already made.

The pain became too much to swallow as Henry’s tears hit the flowers he had been clutching tightly, along with the small velvet box that Henry had earlier believed had held his entire future together. But just like the cold piece of jewelry on the table, his future was now empty and void of meaning.