I didn’t mean to come home this late—No. That’s a lie. I just didn’t care enough to be on time anymore.

The door creaked when I pushed it open. Cheap perfume and sweat clung to my skin, and my collar was crooked from too many hands that weren’t hers. Her scent used to be the only thing I wore. Now I reeked of someone else's touch. Alcohol coated my breath like poison I willingly swallowed.

She was there—of course she was. Sitting in the dim light of the living room, wearing that dress I once told her made my heart race. She looked up, eyes glassy but dry. She wasn’t crying anymore.

"Hey," I muttered.

She didn't say anything. Just stared. I hated it when she stared like that. Not angry, not begging—just… empty. Like she had nothing left to give, and maybe she didn’t.

I saw the plate she made me. Dinner. Still warm, probably reheated twice. There was a little candle beside it, almost dead. Then it hit me—Anniversary.Ours.

“Babe, I…” My voice broke before it could even start weaving another lie.

She just smiled. That smile. The one she wore when she knew she was breaking, but loved me too much to let me see it fully.

"You missed dinner," she whispered.

I did. I missed everything. And still, she stood up, walked past me, and gently took my hand.

"You smell like someone else," she said. Soft. Not bitter. Not cruel. Just… true.

I didn’t pull away. I couldn't. I wanted to ask her why she still touched me, why she still looked at me like there was something worth saving inside this wreck I became.

"You don’t have to stay," I whispered.