Her head was a total mess. 'I shouldn't have left him', 'But he doesn't love me', 'I shouldn't', 'But he didn't care about me', she thought while she was leaving the lift.
In the minute she entered the room, she knew something was wrong. She dropped her handbag and started to fiddle with one of her black hair's curls. She always did that when she got nervous. Everything was upside down. The wardobre's doors were open, her clothes were all over the floor, the bed was undone, the pillows had been ripped and their feathers were now drawing circles before they fell on to the messy floor. She couldn't believe it. What the hell was that? Then she saw a note on a dirty paper written with her favourite lipstick. She crossed the room with big and determinated steps and grabbed it. 'I've told you I love you. You shouldn't have let me go'. And it was just on that moment that she noticed that the window was open, the courtains dancing to the wind. She walked slowly, her right hand holding the note near her acelerated heart. With all the courage she had left she looked outside, not to the blue sky but to the far and grey paviment.
And there she saw him, the man she loved, lying on the floor, just because she had doubts. Just because she couldn't believe he really loved her.