DIVORCE

int ticking of the clock on the wall seemed louder than ever in the empty space between us. We hadn't sp

my own thoughts. The smells of dinner filled the air, but they seemed distant, unimportant. My hands move

didn't turn around. I couldn't. The tension in the house had become palpable, almost suffocating. Every acti

etraying the tightness in my throat

as he hesitated in the doorway, the air thick with uncertainty. After

ke a sharp, discordant note. He didn't say anything, just stared at the empty pla

was a simple meal-nothing special-but the effort felt forced. Like the conv

s both. The weight of everything unsaid settled over the room. What could we even s

itted, my voice small, almost fragile. "I

so a deep sadness, one that reflected my own. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, bu

he murmured, his voice rough.

me out was a hollow laugh, bitter and sharp. It wasn't funny, not at all, but the absurdity of it all overwhelmed me. We

said softly, my eyes lowering to my plate

fraid to say. Saying them out loud didn't make it

ped the edge of the plate, the sound quiet but steady. I could see

you," he whispered, h

e if I truly did anymore. "But you did.

idn't try to defend himself, didn't offer another apology. I think

suffocating, like the space we were trying to share was shrinking with every passing second. It

he distance between us growing, widening, until it was too much to ignore. The dinner table had once been a plac

the weight of his gaze on me, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him. I couldn't face the man who had once been ev

lence. The words felt like a lifeline, something that could

almost reluctantl

other word, he stood

sper of wind outside-all of it seemed to mock me. I had spent so long trying to avoid the inevitable, trying to hold onto some

back and say he was sorry, or maybe for some miracle to fix every

maybe, it was ti