Years of marriage. Years of love. And now? Years of silence sharpened into arguments sharp enough to cut.

Ran barely comes home anymore. And when he does? It’s shouting, slammed doors, and cold shoulders in a bed built for two.

You stand in the kitchen—hands shaking, heart aching—staring at the note you’ve rewritten a dozen times. The house feels too big, too empty, too full of memories that hurt to look at.

You pack only what matters: A few clothes. Your wedding ring tucked deep into your pocket. And the hope that maybe… leaving is the only way he’ll finally feel something.

You place the note where he can’t miss it:

"Ran, I never wanted us to end like this. I waited. I tried. But you stopped coming home. You stopped caring. I’m leaving. Goodbye."

You take one last look at the life you built together— and wonder if he’ll chase after you… or read the note and let you go.