He tried putting his best face forward, compartmentalizing his loss and dread. Robotically attending to his daily routine, overwriting and underthinking every simple task he was aware he wasn't alone. He saw the ghosts. He saw the reminders. He heard the fleeting thoughts surrounding her. Her voice. Her laugh. That lilting giggle.
All the time he kept reminding himself that she really didn't care. That it all was a show.
But his pride intervened and the ghosts multiplied overwhelming him, shaking his emotions.
It would be easier to die. It would be easier to die now without any more pain.
But then she would win.