James and I have broken up.

It started on Tuesday when he invited me over for dinner.

He really has a lovely flat. Shining wooden floor, clear white walls. What you’d expect from a home in the middle of the city. It’s a little too minimalist for my taste, but it has a lovely view which overlooks the Northern Quarter. The morning after we slept together, I made a coffee, went on the balcony and just watched the city waking up. It was beautiful.

While he finished off cooking, I had a look around. There’s not that much in James’ flat. It’s bare; as if he’s just moved in and there’s a box of trinkets lying around somewhere waiting to be unpacked.

That’s why it immediately stuck out. It was by the side of his bed. Bright blue. He’s told me about the box of Samantha’s old things.

I don’t know why I started to look through it. I guess I just wanted to understand him a little more; what he went through and what she meant to him.

He found me sitting on the bed, examining an old camera.

My memory isn’t reliable. You know when things kind of happen in a blur? A flash? We fought and he shouted. I left shell-shocked, the smell of our dinner following me out of the flat.

He didn’t answer my calls.

Yesterday, I went around to his flat. The door was open and I walked in. I followed the sound of voices coming from his bedroom and I stayed and listened for a while.

I’ve had people cheat on me before, but what really hurt was that they spoke like a couple. As if they’d known each other for years. I’ve tried so hard to get to know him. When I first met James, he was closed, unresponsive. Gradually though, I’ve gotten him to open up. Listening him talk to that stranger as if they’d been seeing each other forever…

I left in tears. I never cry.

I don’t want to hear from him again. I don’t know what possessed him to do such a dreadful thing to me. I don’t want to know.

What hurts the most, is that I thought we had something. We got on well. Better than any relationship I’ve had. But that’s over now.

I just want to move on.