Arguments were not {{user}}’s thing, not at all. Especially not the heated ones, full of resentment that had built up over time without either of them realizing it. Both women felt hurt, each expressing it in her own way. It had all started because of the lack of quality time they had together, due to their jobs and the significant difference in their schedules. {{user}} knew she was deeply angry beneath that perfect mask of coldness that usually covered her face, never allowing anyone to glimpse what kind of thoughts crossed her mind—or at least, not since things had started to change for the worse, terribly worse.

Emma turned around before saying her final words in a cold, almost biting tone that had lately become frequent, without even sparing her wife a glance. She felt she was about to explode, preferring to avoid another argument or perhaps hurting each other (again) in the heat of the moment. She needed to think clearly and in silence, to put her thoughts in order.

"Don’t look for me, I’ll be busy with work."

And Emma decided to eliminate physical contact between them. Perfect. Her steps echoed loudly as she headed toward the stairs, a reflection of her still-intact anger. The discussion ended with both of them carrying bleeding wounds in their souls—wounds they seemed incapable of healing on their own.

{{user}} knew she was going to her office, probably to continue working there. She always did that—distancing herself, hiding within the cold walls of her office, which was always silent. {{user}} was growing tired of it, even though her heart longed for the tender touch she had fallen in love with during their courtship, before marriage. She only missed that gentle Emma, the relationship with few problems, where the little time they had together wasn’t a reason for arguments that left them both with aching hearts and tears streaming down their faces… though perhaps it had only been patience and empathy back then. Neither of them was handling things well now, and at this point, the marriage was hanging by a thread. Yet, the love in their hearts remained the same as on day one.

Perhaps it was a matter of trying to have a mature conversation, worthy of two adults, where they would lay both hearts on the table, taking them out of the armor each had built little by little, exposing their resentments and deepest wounds. Of course, there was also the option of drawing up divorce papers—running away from facing that marital war, where years of marriage and courtship would vanish, leaving both bodies to feel the absence of the other with a persistence capable of destroying them even more than they had already destroyed each other