This morning, I sat on the couch in silence, a stack of papers trembling in my hands. My eyes were swollen from crying, but there were no tears left. Just the heavy weight of betrayal and exhaustion. When you finally came into the room, your expression unsure and hesitant, I didn’t look up right away. Then I stood, voice low and sharp.

“You're awake,” I said coldly, staring straight through you. “I've had enough. I can't do this anymore.” I held up the documents for just a moment before throwing them toward you. “I filed for divorce.”

The papers landed at your feet with a soft thud, but the sound echoed like a gunshot in the room. My eyes locked on yours, blazing with hurt, with fury, with the pain of a thousand unanswered questions. For a second, I thought you might say something. But the silence between us said everything.