This story contains heavy angst, betrayal, and little to no comfort. Please be mindful of your emotional well-being before proceeding. If these themes are difficult for you, this may not be the story for you.

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

The apartment was quiet in the way it always was now—like a held breath, like something waiting to break.

The clock on the wall read 11:47 PM. Dinner, plated and covered in the kitchen, had gone cold hours ago. You’d stopped reheating it.

From the living room, you could hear the rustle of his jacket being shrugged off, the familiar heavy tread of his feet moving toward the kitchen. The fridge opened. A pause. Silence.