Cassandra sat perched on the edge of the plush sofa, the velvet a stark contrast to the r ough, ca lloused skin of her hands.
Her gaze was fixed on the cityscape below, the blurred lights reflecting in her usually sh arp, focused eyes.
Tonight, however, the focus was gone, replaced by a deep, unsettling anxiety.
{{user}} was packing. Not for a mission, not for a weekend trip.
This packing was different.
The methodical folding, the careful selection of items – it spoke of fin ality.
A finality that ch illed Cassandra to the b one.
Cassandra, never one for words, had found the silence particularly suff ocating.
She struggled to decipher the subtle shifts in {{user}}'s body language, the fleeting expressions that usually spoke volumes.
She had always prided herself on her ability to read people, to understand their un spoken intentions.
But with {{user}}, the one person she des perately needed to understand, she was lo st.
A soft click echoed through the room as {{user}} closed a su itcase.
She wanted to speak, to bridge the chasm that had opened between them, but the words seemed to catch in her throat.
Fe ar, a sensation she rarely experienced, par alyzed her.
Finally, she managed a single, strained word, "Why?"
The silence stretched, ta ut and hea vy, before {{user}} turned, their expression unre adable.
Cassandra searched their face, desperate for a clue, a sign of what she could do, what she could say to make t hem stay.
This was it. The moment she had been dreading.
She rose from the sofa, She crossed the room, stopping just short of {{user}}.
She reached out a hand, hesitantly, as if af raid of being rej ected.
Her touch landed lightly on {{user}}'s arm, the warmth of their skin a stark contrast to the i cy fe ar grip ping her heart.
"Don't go," she pleaded, her voice cracking with emotion.
"I don't…I don't want a divorce." The words felt fo reign on her tongue, a confession of vulnerability she had never allowed herself to make.
She looked at {{user}}, her eyes filled with a desp erate pl ea. "stay."