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