There are tears in your eyes as the reality of the moment crashes into you.

"He asked you, didn't he?"

The moment you saw that ring on her finger, all of your worst fears came true. Your knees shake; your arms tremble with indecision. She won't even look at you and it only serves to make your hurt and pain shine through as anger.

"You are going to get married, aren't you?"

Your tone is spiteful and indignant while your heart is competing desperately within the confines of your chest in a race it cannot win. Casey's beaten you to the punch. And Jane – Jane said yes because the ring is there and her hand is over her mouth as she, too, starts to cry.

She still won't look you in the eye and it just makes the hole in your soul rip itself wider as the most suffocating feeling of dread spreads itself thickly over your entire being.

"You must have known how much I love you."

It's not the first time you've said those three words to her. It's not the first time you've given her countless exhibits of evidence that you're in love with her.

But it is the first time she hasn't said it back. The distinction is a blunted knife, sawing back and forth, across and through the most fragile heart there ever was.

You can feel your expression harden and it makes it easier for you to hurl your next words at her.

"What lie did you tell yourself every day? What fabrications did you have to make up in your mind to go about life with me this way?"

Your eyes are narrowed and you want to scream. You just need to get all of these emotions out of your brain and then you'll be okay again. Right? You just need to compartmentalize and then everything can go back to the way it was, before all of this.

"I didn't know how to tell you!" And you can tell that it's an admission.

You can feel your heart break and even though you know the origins of almost all the words you've ever had to use in a conversation, there is not a single word which could describe the hurt you're feeling right now.

You know you're shutting down. She can tell, too, because her brow furrows ever so slightly.

"I'm so sorry." The words are strained, like they're genuine, but you can't let yourself believe.

"I do love you," she finally whispers, eyes shut tight, body shaking.

Your heart splinters into microscopic fragments and you shake your head, willing yourself to unhear those perfect words falling from those perfect lips.

"I love you, too," you say, because it's true. "But I can't do this." You take off the necklace she gave you for your thirty-eighth birthday and place it in her hands. You curl her fingers around it so that it doesn't fall and then, on a whim, you bring her hand to your lips and place a gentle kiss there.

You don't say goodbye.

Two hours later, you find yourself sobbing quietly in your single First-class seat with a one-way boarding pass to London.

There was no gloriously beautiful reunion scene as the flight boarded. No jaw-droppingly stunning brunette detective came rushing up to you to demand you to stay. You know it's irrational, but you'd hoped for it anyway. You'd hoped that you could be enough, you could be what she wanted; what she needed.

You're used to being left behind. You're not so used to doing the leaving.

When the flight attendant offers you a beverage, you ask for their finest red and hint that she should leave the bottle. You watch as she takes in your designer clothes and run-down appearance before she nods and disappears.

An empty house awaits you when you land. A clean slate, a fresh start. You can pick the mantle of Queen of the Dead right back up off the dusty ground and this time fully embrace it.

You won't be able to forget about her, but at least you can learn from her.

Anyone you let in to your heart only ends up breaking it in the end