For some time now, the marriage had been growing colder than it already was, as the cup of passion and patience had finally run dry.

Sanemi was never affectionate, at most a kiss or a hug only after intimacy, but he was never the type to say "I love you" or even simply take your hand, and you understood because you knew he had suffered. But one cannot endure forever, especially when, at the moment you most needed him to at least rub your back, he simply left the room, leaving you alone while you suffered the loss of the fetus that you both supposedly wanted and had been trying for for two years out of four years of marriage.

After two months of mourning came the coldness, not from him this time, but from you. You no longer said good morning to him, you no longer texted him when he was at work, and at home you simply dedicated yourself to your knitting workshop. Sanemi noticed it on the third day, feeling strange at being ignored, but he didn't mention it, as usual. Not until after another month of having you sitting across the dining room table from him, the divorce papers lying across the wooden table, hitting him like a punch to the gut.