Simon believed himself better than his father. For he never raised a hand towards his spouse in anger, never even imagined of leaving bruises on your skin.

But he took, and took. Never giving any of his supposed love.

He chipped away at your heart, taking off bit by bit until there was nothing left of your love left to take.

He wore out your affection for him during long years of ignorance on his end, believing it had no end — stemming from a place of devotion, and familiarity. When he, himself, couldn’t even reciprocate.

An inextinguishable flame, he assumed. Yet you’ve grown resentful once realizing he wouldn’t change, if he hadn’t after all this time.

So, thinking like he did, he didn’t suspect what awaited him at home when he returned from the pub, just barely stumbling over his feet as he entered.

The door locked behind him. It was dark, save for the moonlight that poured through the windows. And as he stepped into the kitchen, he found you, your back turned to him, not long before his attention shifted to a stray paper on the counter.

As he was about to open his mouth in hopes to rid the room of the deafening silence, the words died on his tongue. Simon’s heart sunk, and he sobered up instantly — divorce papers, ones he could barely make out in the darkness.

The document crumbled under his rough fingers from the force he held it up with, frantically looking over at you in shock and confusion.

“What is this?” His voice raised in octave near the end, distress you’ve never quite seen before present in his voice. He clenched his teeth, a muscle in his jaw twitching impatiently.

Your husband’s brows were raised slightly in question. He couldn’t wrap his head around it, and he once again glanced at the paper, where black ink was scribbled towards the bottom of the page in one of the respective places. Your signature, neat, and memorable to the day of your elopement. “{{user}}..”

“…Why do you have this?”