Chapter 4: Cold Heartbreak: 1 month after his disappearance!

TAMARA

The past few days had been a blur. I hadn’t sat still once. I searched everywhere Isaiah could be, his house, his agency, his friends’ homes, our favorite café, even the roof where we used to watch sunsets. Nothing. No trace of him.

“What do I do, King? My daughter’s losing her mind,” I heard my mother cry to my father, but I didn’t stop. My room was chaos, my breath ragged, my shirt clinging to sweat. I was searching for something, anything, that could lead me to him.

But I found nothing. I couldn’t even remember what I was looking for anymore.

The clock read 3:45 p.m. I didn’t bother changing out of Isaiah’s shirt or my baggy joggers. My hair was a wild mess as I ran out the door. People stared, some whispered, some dared to ask if I was okay, if I knew why he left. I ignored them all.

When I reached the station, I pushed the glass doors open. Silence fell like a heavy curtain. My throat felt scraped raw when I finally spoke.

“I want to file a missing person report.”

It was as if I was talking to myself with how little they moved. Attempting to scream, an older woman in police uniform rushed to me.

“Okay. Okay. Shmel’, take a deep breaths for me..” she tried to coo but I shook her off.

“I didn’t come here to take a deep breath ma’am.. my fiancé is missing and it has been more than 48 hours.. I need to find him..” I replied, my voice steadier than I expected.

Her eyes widened, lips opened and closed as she stared around. It wasn’t until few minutes passed that she took let out a heavy breath and pulled me to a corner.

“You are certain he is missing? That he didn’t run away willingly?”

I scoffed. “Are you suggesting he ran away from me? That he didn’t want to marry me? Is that it officer?” I spat.

She huffed, throwing the folder on her hand with a loud ‘clack’on her desk.

“Look woman.. this is just protocol okay? It’s not our fault that your boyfriend ran away, or in your words is missing.. but you will drop that attitude when speaking to me.. if you notice, no one wants to deal with you in here. Everyone knows about your failed wedding.” She warned, the warmth in her eyes gone to be replaced with steel

I gulped, jaw clenched, fist tightened as I tried to control my anger..

She eyed me, waiting for my permission. I gave a small nod. With a curt reply, she began asking about Isaiah—if he’d done this before, if I knew where he might be, why he’d left. I answered everything, voice trembling but steady enough. She listened, took notes, then filed the report.

After that, I printed missing person fliers and carried them everywhere, handing them out, asking questions. Most people just gave me pitying looks; some mumbled things I didn’t want to hear.

“You thought you could tame the devil son? Now look.. he is gone”

Their words hurts, but it didn’t deter me.

My days stretched like that, I returned to the station everyday asking if any new information had arisen,  then went back to give out fliers..

On day 20, I grew seriously ill, throwing up blood and everything else.. I was dragged to the hospital by my parents and they said I was dehydrated. I laughed loudly at the doctor, my parents throwing me looks of pity.

If it were just dehydration, I’d be fine. No one knew how much pain I was in—how often I thought about dying. Maggie did. She’d dragged me from the roof more times than I could count, screaming while I stared at the ground like it promised peace. When we got home, I was put on bed rest for three days. Every time I tried to run, my parents caught me. The windows were barred. So was my room.

“How is she?” came the muffled voice outside my room.

“She’s worse than yesterday, King. I’m worried about her,” my mother replied.

I tuned them out, something I’d perfected over the last week.

They said grief had five stages, but I’d been stuck in denial. No tears, no anger, just emptiness. My body felt like a shell, floating between life and death. If someone hit me, I wouldn’t feel it.

Everyone had warned me about Isaiah Cannighan, the devil’s son, they called him. But I loved him anyway. My family never spoke ill of him; my mother adored him, treated him like the son she never had. Maybe that was why it hurt even more. Because I couldn’t believe he’d just… vanished.

The door creaked open. I didn’t turn.

“Tamara, honey,” my sister Magret whispered. “You have a guest.”

Silence.

“I’ll just send them in,” she murmured and left.

Heavy footsteps crossed the floor. My heart stuttered. For the first time in days, I felt something, hope. Foolish, fragile hope. I waited for Isaiah’s voice, that lazy drawl that always melted me.

But it wasn’t him.

“Tamara.”

That voice was deeper and colder.

I turned and froze.

Jacob Cannighan. Isaiah’s father.

He looked like an older version of Isaiah, only stripped of warmth. “You look terrible,” he said, disgust curling his lip.

I pulled my blanket tighter. “And what is it to you?” My voice cracked, rough from silence.

“Nothing,” he replied easily. “Your father won’t stop worrying, so I came to see why.”

“Then tell him I’m fine,” I bit out. “See? Fine.”

He smirked—the same smirk Isaiah wore when he was amused. “Now I see my son’s obsession. You’re a fierce little thing.”

I glared.

He ignored it, pacing slowly. “Strange, though. I thought you’d ask where he was.”

“Because you’d know?” I scoffed. “You don’t even know your own son.”

He didn’t blink. “It’s good your little romance is over. I’m sure wherever he is, he’s forgotten you. I suggest you do the same.”

And just like that, he left.

I stared at the door, staring daggers at him.

Moments later, Magret burst in, face streaked with tears.

“Not now, Mag,” I muttered.

But she didn’t move, just stood there, shaking.

“Maggie?” My voice trembled.

She only sobbed harder.

“Maggie!” I screamed.

“You need to see this,” she choked out.

Barefoot, I followed her downstairs. My parents stood frozen before the TV, my mother crying, my father pale as stone.

Then I saw it.

The headline burning across the screen.

“BODY IDENTIFIED AS 28-YEAR-OLD ISAIAH CANNIGHAN — SON OF BUSINESS MOGUL, JACOB CANNIGHAN.”

His picture appeared, the face I’d loved, the face I’d dreamed of, and the world went silent.

Then came the scream. Mine. Magret’s. Maybe both.

All five stages of grief hit me at once.

The room spun. The floor gave way.

Hands reached for me as everything went black.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

And I prayed it would be the end.

But it wasn’t.

Resolve grew hard in my heart.. never to fall in love.. never to give my all, because all that it gave back was heartbreak..Cold searing heartbreak.