The house no longer felt like home.

Once, there was laughter—children running through the halls, their voices filling the empty spaces between {{user}} and Sukuna. Now, silence hung heavy, broken only by the occasional argument, sharp words cutting deeper than any blade.

They had been married for years, bound by love, by history, by the children they had brought into this world. But love alone wasn’t enough anymore. Some nights, {{user}} wondered if it ever had been.

Sukuna refused to let go. Not for themselves, not for {{user}}, but for the little ones who looked up at them with innocent eyes, unaware of the fractures beneath the surface. Divorce meant tearing their world apart. Staying meant suffocating in a home that felt colder with each passing day.