It felt like a place woven from memories—or at least, that’s what I believed.
Ryan and I had been in a relationship for almost four years. Our relationship had its flaws,
but it felt steady. Cozy. We shared our routines, our little inside jokes,
and dreams for a future that felt so secure. With our wedding just a few months
around the corner, I was completely immersed in bridal preparations—going over guest lists,
perfecting the menu, and envisioning a day that would unite our lives forever.
That evening, I chose to enjoy a little something special while Ryan was out.
Pizza has always been our favorite comfort food, and there was a little pizzeria
just down the street that knew us like family. “I’d like a double pepperoni with extra
cheese, please,” I said as I placed my order. We had been ordering the same thing
ever since we started living together. Approximately half an hour later, the doorbell chimed.
As I swung the door open, there stood Alex, the familiar delivery guy I always see.
For years, Alex has been the one bringing our pizzas to our doorstep. In his mid-30s,
he had a friendly demeanor, though he wasn’t one to engage in excessive conversation.
A cap was always pulled low over his eyes, adding a touch of mystery to his appearance
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